


Phi

by Greysgate



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: M/M, Stalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greysgate/pseuds/Greysgate
Summary: Charlie has an idea that combines math with art as a teaching tool, but when he feels a compelling attraction for the artist who helps him, people begin to die.





	Phi

The lecture was entitled, “ _The Divine Proportion: the Art of Math_.”  It had been in the works now for months, emails flying back and forth between Dr. Charles Eppes and the university art department to plan and coordinate the event. He’d met with the department head, Dr. Marcus Byrne, and explained what he wanted. Dr. Byrne had met with another professor, one who taught marketing classes, and the two had come up with an advertising campaign that had generated ads posted on the website, articles published in newspapers, posters on nearly every campus wall; it was being talked about everywhere. 

The event had been moved twice already, each time to a larger facility, until finally the biggest amphitheater on campus was set for the lecture. It had been booked solid for months. This promised to bring a resurgence of attention to Charlie’s career and he was incredibly excited by it. 

However, two days before the lecture, Dr. Byrne was called out of town for a family emergency. When he’d called to tell Charlie about the change in plans, Byrne assured him he’d made arrangements with one of the junior professors, Dr. Christian Emerson, to take his place. He’d gone over details with the other man during the planning stages, and Byrne was confident that Emerson would be able to take his place without a hitch. 

Despite Byrne’s assurances, Charlie had been rattled, rather than comforted. He went over the outline repeatedly, rechecked the slides several times and gathered a few additional references from famous paintings and drawings, sending them out to have slides made to fall back on, in case Emerson screwed up.

Timing would be crucial to pull this off properly.

If he took too long, Charlie would be on to the next point of the lecture, and the flow would be interrupted. 

The morning of the event, Charlie had gone to the amphitheater early. The extra slides still hadn’t arrived, and he was sweating it out. Then things got worse. 

The dean was there already, hands in his pockets, beaming. 

Several crews of young people were in the process of setting up video cameras at the ends of each aisle, focused on the staging area at the bottom of the steps. 

Dean Jennings laughed as he saw Charlie and hurried over to him.

“We’ve got overflow,” he explained happily. “I can’t remember when the math department got this kind of publicity, Dr. Eppes! It’s wonderful.” 

He pointed to the cameras. “They’ll be videotaping the event, and the film school is going to edit it all together into a DVD for production and distribution to classrooms all over the country. We wanted to surprise you.”

Charlie felt gobsmacked, like the floor had been pulled out from under his feet and he was in freefall. 

Jennings read Charlie’s reaction quickly. “I thought you’d be as thrilled as I am. Is this a problem, Doctor?” 

“No, no,” Charlie assured him, his stomach tying into additional knots. “It’s just that, with Dr. Byrne being out—“ 

“Emerson’s been in on the project since its inception, behind the scenes,” Jennings assured him confidently. “I know you two haven’t met, but it’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about.” 

His smile resurfaced, smaller now, but no less pleased. “This is a ground-breaking idea, you know. You two may be in high demand on the lecture circuit, if you can pull this off.” 

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed sourly. _“If.”_

“You’ll be fine,” Jennings repeated. “Just do the lecture as planned. If Emerson doesn’t measure up to your brilliance, that’s his problem, not yours.” 

Charlie just nodded. There was nothing to be done about it now but see it through to the end. 

He went to the projection room and handed over the slide tray to the projectionist. Going back downstairs to the staging area, he checked the spacing of the three easels, the speaker’s podium, and the white board at the back of the room that would also serve as their projection screen, so Charlie could diagram on it. While the images of flowers, famous buildings and priceless works of art flashed across the screen, the plan was for Charlie to draw lines to illustrate the perfection of the proportions, writing mathematical formulae that proved the theorems he’d be expressing. 

It would be beautiful. 

He couldn’t help fearing, however, that it would be a disaster without the artist he’d been working with to provide additional illustrations. 

He left, returning to his office to get started for the day, biding his time and distracting himself until the moment of truth arrived. 

Just before time for the lecture, he returned to the amphitheater, hurrying up to the projection room to see if his extra slides had arrived. Disappointed and nervous when they he found they hadn’t, he placed a call to the university photography lab.  He discovered they were still developing the slides, but they promised to have them processed and mounted as quickly as possible. Charlie felt ill as he made his way down to the staging area, wiping the sweat off his upper lip with his fingers. 

The easels were no longer empty. Illustration boards had been set up, each with penciled-in graphs set to the precise factor of 1.618. Beside each easel were small tables bearing a variety of art media:  colored chalks and charcoal, watercolors, acrylics, and oil paints.

Everything Charlie expected to be there was present, except for Dr. Byrne. 

With a sigh, he took his notes to the speaker’s stand and put them down, then wandered over to try to compose himself a little before they got started. Doctor Emerson was nowhere in sight, and Charlie was almost hoping he wouldn’t show. He stepped into an alcove to one side of the tiered seating area and took a few deep breaths, checked his wristwatch for the time. 

He glanced up as the doors opened, and the first of the audience members walked into the room.

He was young and blond, maybe twenty years old, Charlie guessed. He took his seat at the far side of the auditorium, right in front. The youth opened up a large notebook and thumbed through a few pages. 

_Not a good spot for a view,_ Charlie told himself, then forgot about him as the rest of the audience began to filter into the room and take their seats. Soon the room was filled, a few additional people squeezing in and standing along the walls in the back of the room. Charlie put his head down and closed his eyes, heart hammering in his chest. 

There was still no sign of Emerson. 

“Charles, are you all right?” asked Doctor Larry Fleinhardt, glancing around the corner at him. 

“Larry, what are you doing here?”  Charlie couldn’t think of a single reason why the head of the physics department would be present for a lecture on math as art. 

“Moral support,” his friend confided with a small smile. “Dean Jennings said you were a little nervous about this, with Doctor Byrne out of town.”  He rounded the corner and came to stand by Charlie, patting his shoulder comfortingly. 

“That’s an understatement,” Charlie groused. “My support hasn’t even shown up.” 

Larry leaned to the left, raised his eyebrows and glanced back at his younger friend. “Yes, he has. He’s right over there,” he pointed, “waiting for you to get started.” 

“Where?”  Charlie whipped around, peering over the tops of the heads of the audience toward where Larry was indicating, at the far side of the auditorium. 

The blond youth who had been first through the doors was now standing beside the first easel, hands clasped behind his back, gazing up at the audience impassively. 

“Him?” asked Charlie incredulously. “He’s just a kid!” 

Larry grinned hugely. “ _He_ is to the art world what _you_ were to math when you were his age, Charles. I should think you, of all people, would know better than to judge someone’s capabilities by their number of birthdays.” 

Charlie heaved a sigh, feeling acceptance wash over him. It was time, ready or not, and he needed to get this done. If it didn’t work out, he could always try it again later, when Byrne was back. 

“Want an introduction?” asked Larry warmly. 

“No,” said Charlie with a smile he didn’t really feel. “Time to sink or swim.” 

“I’ve seen his work,” Larry told him. “He’s very good.” 

“That’s nice.”  Charlie edged past Larry, striding out toward the podium, then changing course to head for his guest artist.

He extended his hand and saw the flash of surprise in the young man’s blue eyes as a radiant smile lit up his face.

Christian Emerson shook Charlie’s hand, a look of genuine joy on his young face. “ _You’re_ Doctor Eppes? Wow!” 

A swell of applause rose up from the crowd, and Charlie grinned back. “Charlie,” he corrected. 

“Kit,” said the artist. He was smaller than Charlie, the top of his head coming to Charlie’s chin. His hair was longish and golden blond, his eyes deep blue. He looked so young, so innocent, and pure. 

Without further conversation or introduction, Charlie went to the podium. He glanced up at the projection booth and gave a quick nod. The lights dimmed, and a symbol flashed upon the white board. 

“One point six-one-eight,” Charlie announced, looking at all the faces in the standing-room-only crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Phi, the Divine Proportion, the Golden Ratio; the most beautiful number in the universe.” 

He gestured toward the symbol behind him and caught the briefest glance of Kit Emerson, hand over his heart, head bowed, eyes closed. The gesture was quick and barely noticeable to the audience, but it was a gesture of reverence, of respect, and Charlie was moved. 

His throat squeezed tightly, and he had to clear it to go on. He moved to the white board, and the symbol disappeared as the slide shifted to a blank screen. Picking up a bold black marker, he began to inscribe the sequence recursively. “This is derived from the Fibonacci sequence, written as…”  

Charlie paused long enough to finish putting the sequence on the board, and continued. “This sequence was identified by Leonardo of Pisa, known as Fibonacci, in which each number is the sum of the previous numbers before it in the sequence: zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, and so on.” 

At the bottom of the whiteboard’s frame was a straight-edge mounted on a vertical track, with a matching one on the left side for precise perpendicular lines. Lifting the bottom one, Charlie measured a line with the value of _x_ , continuing to describe the mathematical composition he was drawing, knowing that Kit should be working behind him on one of the grid-scaled art boards. 

When he finished, he had a simple drawing of a Whirling Triangle, intersected with curved line at specific points. He moved away from the board, still talking, hands waving in the air as he got into the meaning behind the sequence, and its relation to nature. As he approached the podium, he glanced to his left and saw that Kit had just finished a watercolor of the inside of a Nautilus shell, showing the various chambers and their perfect expression of Phi. 

Charlie was stunned. He stared at it for a moment, admiring the beauty of the colors, pale pinks, and peaches, shimmering with light. It was beautiful; as beautiful as Phi. 

He drew himself away, glancing at the artist, who had moved on to the next easel. Charlie lifted the painting of the Nautilus shell and carried it away, setting it on the floor in front of the podium, where it could still be seen by the crowd without getting in the way of the next piece. On each easel were numerous prepared boards, all pre-drawn with the specific geometric shapes and graphs that were expressions of Phi. 

“Plants, animals, and people all express dimensional properties that adhere with incredible exactitude to the ratio of Phi to one,” he continued. The slide appearing on the board behind him showed an up-close photo of a beehive.

“If you divide the number of female bees in a hive by the number of males, you get Phi. Sunflower seeds and pinecone petals, leaf arrangements on plant stalks; all are arranged in statements of Phi. Insect segmentation is based on this same remarkable proportion, as are…” 

Charlie paused, smiled, and stepped over to the next easel, where Kit was just finishing up a quick but very, very good sketch of Leonardo daVinci’s _Vitruvian_ _Man_. 

“…we.”  Carefully touching the art board where his fingers would only contact blank canvas, without smudging the charcoal lines, he pointed as he spoke. “From the top of the head to the soles of the feet, divide by the distance of navel to floor and you have…” 

He extended a hand toward the crowd, and they responded with a small ripple of the word, “Phi.” 

He grinned back at them and exchanged a wry glance with Kit. They were eating out of the palm of Charlie’s hand, and he loved it. “From shoulder to fingertip,” he continued enthusiastically, “divide by the elbow to the fingertip, and you have…” 

“Phi,” answered the audience, a little louder this time. 

“Hip to floor, knee to floor,” Charlie called back to them, fingertips dotting the art board near the figure’s hip, foot, and knee. 

“Phi!” 

“Finger joints,” he called, crooking his index finger in the air. “Spinal divisions. Teeth.“ 

“PHI!” they responded, every face smiling. 

He _loved_ it when he could see the light dawning in people’s eyes. 

“Heartbeat. DNA,” he said, almost shouting this time, waving both hands toward them, challenging them to _bring it on._

“PHI!  PHI!  PHI!”  they chanted. 

“Yes!” he crowed. He felt like a rock star, and shot another glance at the artist standing beside him, still putting the finishing touches on the human figure. 

Kit was laughing, joy gleaming in his eyes. “Yeah!” he cheered, stepping away from the board and punching his fist into the air. 

Charlie took the drawing and set it aside, pointing at the projection booth. A series of photos appeared in quick succession, all of beautiful buildings. “People have been fascinated by Phi for centuries; yet still, it’s not nearly as well known as its famous brother, Pi.” 

A little laughter peppered followed his math joke, and he went on to describe how the Divine Proportion had been used to develop architectural dimensions in the Pyramids in Egypt, the Greek Parthenon, the cathedral at Notre Dame, even the United Nations building in New York City. 

He glanced at Kit, who stood beside the only easel bearing a stretched canvas, also pre-prepared with mathematical precision. 

“Beautiful, yes?” he said quietly, turning to face the ornate façade of Notre Dame. 

An approving murmur whispered through the crowd. 

Nodding in agreement, Charlie closed his eyes, knowing that, no matter how fast Kit was as a painter, he’d need a little time to finish this piece. Charlie could stretch it out a little, but if the artist took _too much_ time, the point would be lost, and he’d have to move on and hope Kit could catch up with him. 

“Phi for the eyes is a wonderful thing,” Charlie stated, “but there is also Phi for the _ears_.” 

At that moment, the opening notes of Beehtoven’s _Fifth Symphony_ filled the room through the speaker system. 

Charlie waited for the volume to recede slightly so he could talk over the piece. “Mozart’s sonatas, compositions by Bartok and Debussy, just to drop a few names, are expressions of Phi. Even the design of high quality speaker wire is based on it.” 

That got a chuckle, too. 

He went back to the board, pointing to his listing of whole numbers in the Fibonacci sequence, starting with the number thirteen. “There are thirteen notes in the span of any note through its octave. A scale is comprised of eight notes, of which the fifth and third notes create the basic foundation of all chords, and are based on whole tone… which is two steps from the root tone… which is the first note of the scale. Thirteen, eight, five, three, two, one. Fibonacci. _Phi._ ” 

Murmurs of wonder rippled through the audience. 

On the whiteboard, a photograph of a piano keyboard appeared. “Notice that the scale here from C to C, a span of thirteen keys, is shown with eight white keys, plus five black keys, in groups of three and two, _again_ counting down the Fibonacci sequence.” 

The music began to fade away, but not completely. 

Charlie strolled over to the canvas where Kit was just finishing up. The canvas wasn’t completely covered, but the lack of paint revealed pieces of the diagrams used to design the piece and complemented the pleasing design. Just off center of the canvas, half a violin described _x 2_ vertically, and a piano keyboard in a horizontal arrangement behind the head created x. 

“Wow,” he said quietly. He glanced up, searching for the artist, who was already at work on the first easel. “You _are_ good.” 

Kit gave him a graceful nod and half-bow of acceptance of the praise, but did not speak, leaving the floor to its master. Genuine pleasure smiled back at Charlie; Kit’s blue eyes sparkling with joy. 

_He loves this,_ Charlie thought. 

Turning back to his audience, Charlie gestured toward the painting. “The violin is designed on the principle of Phi, and Stradivarius used the formula to calibrate positioning of the _f_ -holes in his world-renowned instruments.” 

He wandered back to the podium, preparing to bring the presentation to a close.

“It has been said that music is equal parts mathematics and euphoria, which is also an apt description of Phi.” 

The pictures began to change behind him of other examples of the beautiful number, all diagrammed to reveal the perfect proportions of Phi. Charlie couldn’t hear the soft click of the slide projector with the music in the background, but he could see the light shift at regular intervals, the pictures forming in his mind as he spoke. 

Kit was in motion now, his whole body propelling the charcoal across the face of the art board, catching Charlie’s eye. He was drawing like a madman, eyes gleaming, tongue stuck out and curled over the left side of his upper lip, his board angled away from Charlie.

The artist’s passion for his work was obvious, and stirring. 

The young man was amazing. Now Charlie was glad that Byrne hadn’t been able to make it. Kit Emerson was all fire and golden light, and Charlie couldn’t take his eyes off him. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Golden Mean is all around us, a universal metric in the design of living organisms. It is the Divine Proportion, the perfect number.” 

He gestured to the various works completed during his lecture, and finally, to the artist himself as he crumbled the charcoal stick in his hand, danced backward away from the board and swept down in a dramatic bow. 

“It is, without doubt, the most beautiful number in the universe. Phi, the Golden Ruler, the Divine Principle, the measure of all things, is the number of life. It is the key to balance, to proportion, and even though we may not always recognize the math behind it, we all instinctively _understand_ the principle of Phi.  We look for it in the forms around us. We create objects and buildings that interpret it, and find them pleasing.” 

He walked over to Kit and held out his hand, looking the young man in the eyes as the lights came up.

Doctor Emerson was incandescent with joy. He was absolutely _glowing_ , and Charlie felt as if all the light in the room was being drawn to him, bouncing off his bright surface, almost blinding in its radiance.

This young man’s skill, as well as his obvious respect for and familiarity with Phi, were mind-blowing to Charlie. 

“An artist doesn’t have to have a degree in math to paint,” he went on quietly as they shook hands, “but the art he produces can still reflect the principles of Phi, because Phi isn’t just a mathematical equation. It is _beauty_. It _is_ art. It is _life_.” 

Charlie gave Kit a slight bow of respect for his talent, then let go of his hand and turned to face the audience. 

“Questions?” he asked with a smile, touching a fingertip to his chin. 

The lecture had gone perfectly. Charlie was thrilled, settling into a feeing of sweet satisfaction as he listened to the first query from the audience and answered it. They came faster after that, enthusiastically, filled with wonder and awe. It was wonderful, and Charlie was amazed when Kit began to answer some of the questions as well, drawing out examples incredibly quickly on extra art boards, moving to the white board when there were no more spares. 

It was intoxicating. It was amazing. His head was spinning when the lecture was finally officially over, and people began filing outside. 

Larry and Dean Jennings both congratulated them, and then made their exit. 

With a sly smile, Charlie saw that Kit had acquired a handful of groupies who were flirting with him like mad. He smiled politely as he spoke to them, all the while packing away his art supplies, and then Charlie noticed that Kit was signing the pieces. That was when he got a good look at the final drawing. 

It was a portrait of Charlie, or rather, of his profile, with the Phi ratio plotted out to the side and above it, with faint lines connecting the two on an _x/y_ plane. 

Charlie stared at it, vaguely aware that the amphitheatre had grown quiet.

The audience had gone, leaving only the two of them in the big room. 

“We did all right, for having had no practice,” said Kit. “I think you’ve acquired more math converts.” 

“Looked like that, didn’t it?”  Charlie made eye contact and couldn’t help grinning. “You’ll probably have a few more students in your classes soon, too. That was quite a performance, when you were doing the last one. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone draw so fast. Byrne couldn’t have done it, I don’t think.” 

“It’s not his style,” Kit agreed with a modest shrug.

He lifted the cleaning rag he held in his left hand. “Look, would you mind…  um…  You’ve got charcoal on your face, and it’s driving me nuts.” 

He held up his right hand, still bearing traces of black.

“From when we shook hands at the end.” 

“Oh.”  Charlie took the rag, saw Kit pointing to his chin, and scrubbed at it with the cloth. He handed it back. “Thanks.” 

“Hold still, okay?”  Kit daubed the spot again, then smiled. “There, now, you’re gorgeous again.”  He turned away and continued packing up. 

“Gorgeous?” asked Charlie, a little startled by the use of that word to describe him. No one had _ever_ called him that; at least, not in his presence. He’d always thought his nose was too big, his curly hair too unruly, and his five-o’clock shadow too dense for him to be attractive. 

“Yeah. Gorgeous. You’re _Phi_ , Charlie.”  Kit grinned at him. There was something almost… flirtatious in that look. 

Charlie’s heart speeded up. His mouth went dry. His groin tingled. He stared. He groaned softly, knowing he shouldn’t be reacting like this. It was almost… sexual, and Kit was a _man_. A very attractive man, but still… Charlie wasn’t gay. 

At least, he hadn’t thought so. Charlie had spent most of his life hiding from relationships, running away from them, because they left him vulnerable. He’d felt the occasional attraction to a few women, and had even lived with one in England for a while when he’d attended Oxford, but that hadn’t ended well, and then his mother had gotten sick. There had been no women after that. No dates, no flirtations, no longings. Whenever he’d felt attracted to anyone, he’d looked the other way, or buried himself under work until it was gone. 

Now there was this strange new attraction, unexpected, but not unwelcome. 

Kit seemed completely unaware of the effect he was having on the other man. He busied himself with his gear while Charlie just watched him. After a few moments, Charlie realized he was staring and went to help gather up the pieces, desperately trying to think of something to say, some topic of conversation to keep things going. 

“Remember, you’ve promised to do equivalent exchange for the art department,” Kit said, tucking a paper towel into the small bowl he’d used for the watercolor, to soak up the last of the paint-laden water. “D’you wanna have your secretary call mine and set up a time for next week to plan?” 

“Sure.”  Charlie barely remembered that part of the deal. “I don’t know what I could possibly do for your department, though. Balance your budget, maybe?  Figure out how many square yards of carpet you need for your office?”  He shrugged and gave a nervous half-smile. 

Kit chuckled and pulled a can of fixative spray from one of his kits. He glanced at Charlie as he sprayed the charcoal drawings to seal them and keep the fine black powder on the surface of the boards from smearing. 

“Oh, I’m the lucky one there, Doctor Eppes,” he returned playfully. “I’m teaching a course in human figure drawing. I was expecting some stodgy, out-of-shape grey-hair to be giving this lecture, not a hot, young studly type.” 

_Studly_? No one had ever called Charlie that, either.  God, gorgeous and studly, all in one day! He was speechless, stunned. 

Kit tucked the can back into the kit, closed and latched it, then leaned on the top. “Come to my classroom a half hour early. After you undress, you’ll need time for your skin to relax, so clothing lines will disappear before you sit on the stool. Or I have a reclining couch, if you’d rather pose on that. Lovely old antique thing, good to draw all by itself, but that’s not the subject of the course of study, so…” 

He stopped talking, his eyes roving over Charlie’s face. “Did I say something…?  I mean, I’m not hitting on you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

“I wasn’t.”  Charlie didn’t frankly know what he’d been thinking; his mind had stopped working when he’d figured out what Kit wanted him to do as payback for the art department. “I’ll be _n-naked?_   In front of your class?” 

With a devilish grin, Kit’s face lit up again. “Well, yeah.”  His smile widened, and he wagged a finger at Charlie. “And I’m not letting you out of the deal, either, now that I’ve seen you.  The class is in for a real treat!” 

He winked shamelessly, gathered up his things onto a cart, and headed up the aisle, disappearing through the door. 

“Well, _shit!”_ whispered Charlie. 

He hoped the class was small. He hoped they all stayed home. He hoped the power went out that day, and the class had to be cancelled. Maybe he could just conveniently forget about the deal, or suddenly find too much work to do to fulfill his part of the bargain.  Maybe he could get sick and go to the hospital for a few days, suffering from something contagious.  Or maybe arrange to get called to Timbuktu for some obscure mathematical research. 

_That_ , however, wouldn’t be honest. He’d made a deal – apparently, with the devil – and he’d keep his word, even if it killed him.

Which was entirely possible, considering hardly anyone in the world had ever seen him naked.

Now, not only would people see him, they’d be drawing pictures of him so _other_ people could see him, too. 

_Well, fuck!!!_

He went home, fully intending to begin shaping up his affairs and write out his will, because he was just going to die of shame, and that was all there was to it. 

## Φ 

After two weeks of fielding calls from the art department, and begging off numerous times, the moment of truth finally arrived. Charlie presented himself to Doctor Emerson as if he were headed for the firing squad. Kit smiled and showed him to his office, leaving him alone with a big, white, fluffy terry-cloth robe that smelled of spices and woods, a masculine scent that Charlie liked. 

He dutifully disrobed in the quiet of the office and slipped into the robe, tying the sash around his waist. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly and then opened the office door. Kit was waiting for him just past the nearest easel, his eyes gentle and warm, the tiniest smile playing around the corners of his mouth. 

“It’s really not that bad,” the professor promised him. “You forget about it after a while. Is it warm enough in the room?” 

Charlie didn’t answer right away, taking the time to actually assess the temperature first. “It’s fine, but I have to tell you, I’ve never done anything like this before. If you hadn’t done such an _incredible_ job at the lecture, I’d be sitting fully clothed in my office right now… but you earned my cooperation. I’m just...” 

He smiled slightly and shrugged.

He could feel himself quivering. 

“Scared,” Kit said for him, nodding. “I was, too, my first time posing. Would you feel better about it if you weren’t the only naked man in the room?” 

Eyes widening in surprise, Charlie felt his mind slip a gear as he tried to process that and ended up stammering without any sort of an answer actually coming out his mouth. 

Kit grinned. “Okay, I’ll take that as a ‘no,’ but just in case, don’t run away. Stay right there, and I’ll be back in a sec.” 

He stepped into his office and returned a few moments later, dressed in a similar robe and nothing else.

“There. Now, if you change your mind, I’ll be ready. If you decide you don’t need moral support, I’ll get dressed later. Do you need to borrow my bathroom before we get started?  You should be on the table for about two hours, so if you need to go, now’s the time.” 

“No, I’m good.”  Charlie started to fidget, his fingers getting tangled in his dark curls as he attempted to run his hands through his hair. 

People were starting to enter the classroom, set up their giant-sized paper drawing tablets and get out their charcoals. He glanced about nervously, catching a few pleased-looking smiles as the students eyed him up. They were all ages and genders, with some darned attractive women in the group. He tried not to look at them or think about what he was about to do, but every step he took seemed to waft cool air up under the hem of his robe, straight to his privates, which felt as if they were shrinking up, trying to find a place to hide. 

“Right this way, Doctor Eppes,” said Kit, addressing him formally now, gesturing toward the center of the room. 

A raised dais had been built of Cindercrete blocks and covered with a plywood platform. On top of that was a red velvet fainting couch at one end, a tall white stool at the other. Perpendicular to the dais at the end nearest the windows was a large white table. A drape of white fabric hung from the ceiling and pooled on one corner of the table, carefully arranged to partially cover a white velvet bolster pillow. 

Kit stood between the table and the dais and nodded toward the couch. “Would you prefer to sit or recline?” 

Charlie eyed the furniture. He didn’t _want_ to do either. He wanted to _leave_ , and it must have showed. 

The younger man gave him a sympathetic smile, moved closer and bent his head to say very quietly, so only Charlie could hear him,

“No one’s here to judge you, Charlie. There are no standards to meet, no contests to win. You are only light and shadow in this room, planes of muscle and bone, an object of art, an expression of Phi. That’s _all_. Nothing to be afraid of here.” 

He stepped back and raised his head, blue eyes searching Charlie’s face to see if his words had helped. 

They had.  Pleased with Kit’s sensitivity and understanding, Charlie turned to study the furniture.  He went to the stool, looked it over, and cocked his head, trying to figure out what was needed.  He looked up at Kit and asked, “What-what-how do you want me to sit?  I mean, what pose?  I’m not sure what the class is looking for.” 

Kit nodded and moved to sit on the narrow couch. “The most important thing, Charlie, is for you to find a position that’s comfortable, because you won’t be moving much. I’ll give you a break at the hour, and if you need to scratch your nose or make small movements like that, go ahead, but you’ll need to try to hold still for the most part.” 

He sat down on the couch and leaned back on one elbow. “Your neck will get tired after a short time in positions like this, so it’s better to strike a pose where your head holds its own balance, like this.”  He moved upright, straightened one leg, and bent the other, resting his left arm against his raised knee. His right hand acted as a minor brace against the cushion behind him. 

Charlie glanced around at the faces of the students. No one seemed to be paying either of them any attention, chatting among themselves and fiddling with their supplies. That made him feel a little better, and he began to relax. Maybe this wouldn’t be such an ordeal after all. All he had to do was sit still and ponder the never-ending supply of math puzzles and problems in need of solutions. 

“Hey, can I have a pen and tablet so I can work while I’m naked?”  He blushed as soon as the words came out of his mouth. A nervous half-laugh followed up. 

“Sure.” 

“Doctor, we can’t see you over here,” called a voice across the room. 

Charlie glanced up and followed the sound to a pretty redhead in the back corner of the room. 

“You’ll have to move your easel, then,” Kit called as he rose to fetch the supplies. “We want to make Doctor Eppes as comfortable as possible, and every artist must learn to choose the right vantage point for viewing their subject. It’s not up to the subject to move for you. Keep that in mind, Felicia.” 

“Yes, sir,” the girl answered with a sigh, and began to pack up her things and move. 

Several others went with her. 

Sticking his fists into the pockets of his robe, Charlie mounted the stool and just sat there, getting the feel of it, trying to find a comfortable way to pose on it. That wasn’t happening, and by the time Kit returned with the pad and pen, Charlie had made his way to the table and taken a seat there. He was perched on the edge, one leg hanging off, the other bent, his right toes barely touching his left thigh. His right knee would make a good place to rest the tablet so he could write. 

“Found my pose,” said Charlie with a wry grin as he took the implements from the professor. “Thanks.”  

He held the pad against his leg with his left hand and positioned the pen against the paper, head down to view the page. “How’s this?” 

Kit stepped back to look from several angles. “Except for the fact that you still have the robe on, it’ll do nicely.”  

“Oh.”  

Charlie reached for the sash without thinking, then froze as soon as he realized what he was doing. He forced himself to keep moving, to untie the sash and part the garment over his chest. He was aware how dreadfully slowly he was moving, and almost jumped out of his skin when Kit told him to stop. 

“What?” he blurted, eyes wide, breath coming short and fast. 

Kit’s gaze was on his body, not his face. His hands moved slowly, carefully toward him, taking the robe out of his grasp. “Leave this here,” he murmured, touching the garment bunched around his right forearm. “The folds of the fabric there are great. We want to leave the robe there on your arm. Can you write with it that way?” 

He made eye contact with Kit, and Charlie couldn’t breathe for a moment. He had never seen such raw passion in anyone’s face before, and it hit him with the force of a blow. Had he been able to speak at that moment, he’d have uttered a rarely-used swear word. 

Spellbound, Charlie watched Kit’s hands arrange the robe all around him, exposing skin here, covering there. When he finished, even Charlie could see what a striking picture the arrangement would make, the white robe contrasting against his naturally dusky complexion. As luck would have it, a corner of the hem modestly covered his lap so he had just enough of his modesty preserved to allow him to make it through the sitting without dying of shame. 

Kit stood back and looked him over from head to toe with a critical but passionate eye. He moved around the table, tucking a bit here, bunching or straightening there until he had everything just the way he wanted it. Completing the circuit, he gave a last look, then lifted a beaming face to meet his model’s eyes. 

Charlie wondered if the young man knew just how stunning he was. 

“Beautiful,” said Kit happily. 

“That’s just what I was thinking,” whispered Charlie, unable to tear his eyes away from that face. 

Emerson sobered a little. “You’ll be okay now?” 

“I think so.” He flashed a relieved, grateful smile. 

“Then be still and think of math,” Kit teased. “Meanwhile, I have a class to teach, so if you’ll excuse me…” 

He turned and addressed the class, beginning his lecture for the day. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have as our guest, Doctor Charles Eppes, from the Math Department. Please be very gracious to him, as this is his first time modeling, and he’s a bit nervous. You’ll notice the excellent job I did arranging the folds in his robe, so don’t let my hard work go to waste. Pronto, people! Let’s be the lightning, and make smoke and shadows.” 

He clapped his hands, and his students began to draw.

Charlie thought about that last line for a moment. He wrote it down. Those words were too beautiful to be forgotten. 

They drew very, very fast, ripping the sheets off their tablets as soon as they finished a sketch and laying it aside on the floor. 

When Charlie got over the shock, he began to study them, the speed at which they worked, the way the papers curled and fluttered in the air on their way downward. He could see the math all around him, formulae scrolling away in his head, carrying his mind like the current in a stream to that place that was quiet and orderly and peaceful. 

He bent his head and began to write, letting the numbers and symbols come, asking the questions and searching for the answers in that beautiful, perfect place that was _math_. 

Before he knew it, Kit was patting his knee. “Earth to Charlie,” he called. “Time’s up! You can get dressed now.” 

“Just a minute,” he said softly, and returned his focus to the paper. “I’ve got something going here, and I don’t want to lose concentration.” 

The next time he looked up, the room was empty, except for a single artist standing at an easel just a little to his right. Kit Emerson was fully dressed again, and had a canvas up and his paints out. He smiled as soon as he saw Charlie straighten. 

“Tired?” he asked. 

Charlie’s back was aching. His fingers were sore. “Yeah, actually.” 

He laid the tablet and pen aside and pulled the robe around him while Kit continued to dab at his canvas. Once he had the sash tied, Charlie straightened and stretched, hopped down off the table and wandered over to look. 

It was a portrait of him, almost half finished. 

“You’re welcome to come back and sit for me so I can finish it, if you’d like,” said Kit casually. “Or I can paint over it, if you’d rather not.” 

“No!”  Charlie was horrified by the idea of covering up such a skilled work. “It’s so good, Kit! How could you even _think_ of destroying this?” 

A sly smile lifted half of Kit’s mouth, and a dimple flared in his cheek. “So, you’ll sit for me, then?” 

“Well…”  Charlie glanced around the otherwise empty classroom. 

Kit’s voice dropped a notch, growing softer, almost conspiratorial in tone. “My place?  It’s more private, and this isn’t a come-on. I’d just like to finish the painting.”

His expression softened, but his eyes were on fire. “I saw who you are while you were working the equations on that paper. It was…”

Charlie dragged his gaze back to Kit’s face, and found himself staring at the younger man’s lips. Kit’s breath hitched. The young man was miles away, looking right through his model. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen before. What I saw… it wasn’t a pose, Charlie. It’s how I _feel_ about art. Sitting right there in front of me.”

Then Kit blinked, and he was in the room again. His cheeks went pink. “Wow. Sorry. I got lost for a minute, there.” 

 “Yes.”  Charlie found himself wishing it _were_ a come-on. With the slightest encouragement, he would have kissed the artist right then. He felt himself drifting toward Kit, and struggled to pull himself back. 

“You’ll need to move around a little, get the blood flowing,” Kit suggested. “Wanna grab some dinner?” 

“Sounds good,” Charlie murmured. “Where would you like to go?” 

With a husky laugh, Kit laid aside his brush and palette, picked up a rag, and began to clean his hands. “I didn’t mean that to sound so much like I was asking you out,” he confessed. “Larry told me you’re straight, but I’m starting to wonder.” 

“So am I.”  Charlie frowned. He was feeling mighty confused at the moment. “I mean, I’ve never…”  His hands flashed nervously in the air between them. “I don’t know what’s going on, here, Kit. I don’t look at men.” 

Kit tilted his head back, gazing at Charlie from beneath half-closed eyes. It was a sexy, alluring pose with a touch of defiance in it. “I do,” he responded quietly, calmly. “I’m gay, and I’ve always known it. I don’t tease or flirt if I know it’s not wanted, and I’ve been very careful not to give out any mixed signals with you.” 

Charlie’s stomach was tying itself into knots again. The more he tried to straighten out his thoughts, the more they seemed to wrap around Kit. There was attraction here. It was undeniable, and it was growing stronger by the minute. 

He took a step closer, unable to stop himself, aware that he was crowding Kit’s personal space. They were less than a foot apart now, and Charlie could feel Kit’s body heat. 

“Does that mean you’re _not_ attracted to me?” Charlie asked, afraid of the answer he might hear. He _so_ wanted Kit to admit that he was. 

Kit’s pupils dilated. He licked his lips and stood his ground, didn’t flinch when Charlie slipped his hand against Kit’s side. His breathing got faster, shallower. 

“ ‘Don’t dip your pen in the company ink,’ my father always used to say,” Kit whispered. “Charlie, it’s not a good idea to date people at work.” 

“Two different departments,” Charlie argued in a soft mumble, leaning closer. 

God, how he wanted to kiss that mouth!  He’d never felt desire so strongly. It overpowered him, pushed him as firmly as if it had been a hand to his back. 

He threaded his fingers into Kit’s hair and kissed him, their mouths coming together like freight trains crashing head-on. It was brutal, painful, and _by far_ the hottest kiss of Charlie’s entire life. They stumbled backward together, bumping into easels, knocking them over, heedless of the mess they were creating. Charlie drove Kit across the room, up against the wall, pinning him there, devouring his mouth, grinding their bodies together. 

It surprised Charlie when he came, Kit’s hands in his hair and clutching his robe at the small of his back, holding him hard. 

He staggered backward, glancing down at his dick, rapidly losing its stiffness and dripping with come. 

“Jesus,” he whispered, shocked now by what he’d done. He turned stricken eyes to the young man, wondering how this had happened. “I’ve never done anything like that before. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I thought it was pretty hot, for a straight guy.”  Kit leaned against the wall, adjusting his still-hard dick to a more comfortable position in his pants. 

“I didn’t…”  Charlie clutched at the robe, pulling it over himself. His face was so hot, it felt as if it might explode. “I didn’t give you a chance to choose. I just… _wanted_ you. I’ve never, ever done anything like this, Kit, I swear! I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.”  His voice was flat, emotionless; his face composed. “No harm done. It wasn’t unwelcome, just unexpected.” 

Charlie gazed down at the bulge in Kit’s pants; pants that were stained with Charlie’s come. He was completely baffled by all this and sought understanding from the other man. “What do I do, Kit?” 

The blond frowned at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Do you want to… you know. See where this goes?  Show me what to do?  Or do you already have a boyfriend?  Is that what you were trying to tell me?” 

“No boyfriend,” Kit assured him. “I’m just… not sure it’s smart for us to be involved and work for the same university.” 

“I can work for any university I want,” Charlie told him flatly. “It won’t be a problem.” 

“It might be for _me_.”  Kit eyed him steadily. His cheeks colored slightly, then he dropped his gaze. “I am attracted to you, Charlie. Have been from the first moment I saw you at the lecture. Listening to you talk about math, I knew I could fall for you, deep and hard, so I asked Larry about you, being that he seems to be our mutual friend. He told me you’re straight and that you’ve got a thing for Amita, so I was careful to avoid showing an interest.” 

Kit lifted his head and made eye contact, and there were tears standing in them that were hastily blinked away.

“I’m not playing here, Charlie. This is not something you can just try out, you know. If you want to get involved with me, it won’t be just for the pleasure of a quick fling, though I can damn sure give you pleasure you’ll never forget. I just don’t do one-night stands, y’know? I do _relationships_. If you want me, you date me. You introduce me to your family, and I take you home to meet mine. You decide you’re gay or bi before you get to have me, because I’m not going to be the ‘other man’ in your life, your dirty little secret, hidden away in the closet. You have to know who and what you are before I’ll take you to bed with me.” 

Like a dash of cold water in his face, reality swept in on Charlie, purging the haze of desire from his mind.  Kit was smart and talented, but he was also honest and sincere. He knew what he wanted, and had obviously had experience that Charlie didn’t in this area. Kit was openly gay, and was telling Charlie that he’d have to admit to that, too, before they could be together. 

It wasn’t an ultimatum. It wasn’t even a choice. Charlie had heard enough discussion on the subject on campus to believe that people were born with their orientations already hardwired into their brains, but conditioning and culture sometimes delayed recognition of that fact. 

At thirty years old, Charlie seemed to have found someone of the same sex who rang his chimes. Now he had to decide whether to pursue that attraction or turn away from it. The thing was, if it happened once, it might very well happen again. If not with Kit, then with some other man he had yet to meet.

Since he couldn’t seem to connect with Amita, maybe this was what had been missing all along. 

“Think about it, Charlie,” Kit urged quietly. “Just be _sure_ before you go any further with this.”  He hesitated. “With me.” 

“You’ve been hurt a lot,” Charlie guessed. 

Kit nodded. “I’ve learned to be careful, and I know a dangerous man when I see one. I could fall so fucking hard for you. It scares me.”  

“I’m scared, too,” he admitted. “This won’t be easy for either of us.” 

“The easy part is if nothing happens,” Kit suggested. “Nothing aside from what already has, anyway.” 

Charlie’s gaze dropped to Kit’s crotch, and the bulge was gone now. “You’ll be okay?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?” 

Kit tried to suppress a smile and turned away. “No. You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.” 

He nodded toward his office. “Why don’t you go get changed, then get _yourself_ some dinner, and I’ll talk to you later. All right?” 

“Right.”  Charlie headed for the office, cleaned himself up on some tissues he found on the desk, then dressed quickly. When he exited, Kit had written his phone number and address on the back of one of his business cards, which he handed to Charlie. 

“When you make up your mind which way your pendulum swings, let me know,” he said softly, flashing a hopeful smile. “And whichever way that is, I’d still like to finish the painting, if that’s all right with you. I think it’s pretty good, too. You’re a beautiful subject. Very _Phi_.” 

“You’re amazing,” Charlie said, beaming. He wanted to kiss Kit again, but resisted the temptation and tucked the card into his jacket pocket. “I’ll see you soon, Kit. I promise.” 

Only it wasn’t soon. Time was always relative in Charlie’s world. He got distracted and lost track of it when inspiration hit, and he found answers to theorems he kept simmering in the back of his mind, on other levels of consciousness. He was swept into a new case by his brother, then shaken by the fact that he almost lost his life to a sniper. 

Life swirled around him, catching him up, carrying him away. 

It wasn’t until three weeks later when Dean Jennings presented him with the finished production copy of the DVD of his lecture that he remembered he’d had a decision to make. 

And now, it seemed, an apology on top of that. 

He took the disc home and played it, watching the artist work. The stirrings were still there, awakening as soon as he saw Kit’s reverence for Phi, and the subsequent passion that enveloped him as he began to work. Charlie leaned closer to the screen as he watched the amazing compositions appear on the boards, fleshed out by paint or strokes of charcoal. The artist worked fast and was incredibly good at what he did, but even more exciting was his use of the grids for development and placement and proportion of the works of art that he created. 

He left Charlie breathless. 

Larry’s description of Kit echoed in his mind. 

_He is to the art world what you were at his age to math._

Charlie stopped the DVD on a view of the finished profile of his face, got up and fetched his laptop and booted it up, letting the DVD continue once he’d resumed his seat in the armchair. He launched the Internet browser and logged on, searching for news articles featuring Kit’s name.

What he found was, indeed, a close parallel to Charlie’s life, but from a right-brain perspective. 

Kit was barely twenty-three years old, and already a professor at a major university. Graduating high school with honors two years ahead of schedule, he was also declared a genius in his own right, and by the time he’d finished college, he had a major in art and a minor in mathematics. His art career, however, had brought him international fame. 

At eighteen, Kit had his first one-man show at a prominent gallery in Chicago. A year later, he was graduating from Yale’s prestigious art school. The New York Times did an article on him, and Donald Trump commissioned a gigantic painting from him for Trump Tower. He’d had exhibits at the Met and the Louvre, but rather than taking the art world by storm and milking his success for fame and fortune, he’d gone back to school and begun working on his doctorate, while his works were exhibited worldwide. Now that he’d earned his Ph.D., Kit was in his first year of his professorship.    

And Charlie had told him his painting was “good.”  

He shook his head, a wry grin teasing at his mouth. “Of course he’s good, you idiot,” Charlie mused. “He’s probably the best in the world right now!” 

“Who?” asked his dad, coming into the room with a beer and plopping down on the sofa. 

“Huh?”  Charlie flinched, startled to see him. His face heated up, and he scrambled to minimize the search and shut off the DVD, until it occurred to him that his father didn’t know that he’s kissed the young man on the screen and sort of had sex with him.

He relaxed, cleared his throat, and did his best to gather his wits, studying the remote control for the button to shut off the DVD player.

“Oh, uh, Kit Emerson, the artist who helped me with my presentation on Phi last month.” 

His father pointed to the screen with the bottom of his beer bottle. “Is that what this is, a recording of the lecture?  Let’s see it.” 

Charlie hit the play button instead, starting it over at the beginning. “He was a last-minute replacement for Doctor Byrne, and it didn’t occur to me till Dean Jennings gave me this copy today that I didn’t know a thing about Kit Emerson, so I looked him up. Pretty amazing guy. Very talented.” 

Alan Eppes stared at the TV screen. “ _Wow_. Look at _that_!” 

Wonder was clear in the elder Eppes voice. He kept his wide eyes open, blinking as little as possible so he wouldn’t miss a stroke. 

“There was no rehearsal for this,” Charlie told him, talking over his voice droning on in the recorded lecture. “Kit had been in on the planning from Doctor Byrne’s part of the presentation, so he was up to date with what it was all about, but I can’t _believe_ how good he is, and how _fast_! Just amazing.” 

“I’ll say!” 

His father remained silent during the rest of the lecture, except for the occasional murmur of approval and delight. 

Charlie glanced between the TV and his laptop, continuing to read additional articles on the artistic wunderkind and view images of his works. Some of them he saved to his laptop for wallpapers and screensavers. All of them were mind-blowing. 

He could _see_ the math in the precision of the layouts, the balance and perfection of each canvas. 

Alan drew him out of his reverie when the DVD finished playing. “You know, Charlie, I always wanted to be able to draw like that. Such beautiful things. Kid’s a marvel, that’s for sure! And no rehearsal?  You guys didn’t work together before this?” 

Charlie cuckled. “We didn’t even _meet_ before this,” he stressed. “I didn’t even know he was there, what he looked like, anything. All I had was his name, Doctor Christopher Emerson. When we shook hands at the opening, he introduced himself as Kit.” 

“You should invite him over for dinner. It’s the least we can do for his pitching in and saving your ass like that.”  Alan got up. “What happened to those pictures from the lecture, by the way?  I think I might like to have that portrait of you.” 

“I’ll ask, next time I talk to him.” 

Which reminded Charlie that he needed to call. 

“Do that, wouldja?”  He headed for the kitchen. 

“We’re having grilled chicken salads tonight,” he called back over his shoulder.  “Is Don coming over?” 

“I dunno.”  Charlie powered down the laptop, turned off the TV, and went out into the back yard to think. He ended up in the garage with a piece of chalk in his hand, poised over one of the many blackboards where he kept his works in progress. The math was distracting him, as it always did, but he pulled himself back to the real problem at hand. 

_Kit_. 

Charlie was attracted to him; powerfully so. Even now, after all these weeks, all it had taken had been a glimpse of him on the TV screen for him to be on fire with it again. He’d never felt like that about anyone before, and he knew it meant something. 

His relationships with women had always been slow in developing, uncertain at best. He found them beautiful and mysterious, alien, difficult to understand, completely beyond his ken. There was no math to decipher their behavior as a gender; they were unpredictable as individuals. He could use various equations to understand certain aspects of particular elements of their personalities, such as when he was working a case for his brother and trying to establish connections between victims and perpetrators, but on a purely emotional level, he was lost when it came to women, and he knew it. 

_Men_ , however – he’d always been able to relate well to other men. There was a sense of acceptance he felt with them, whether they were “geeks” or not. Most men appreciated statistics, especially when it came to sports. He’d always found some way to talk easily with men, but not with women. 

That didn’t necessarily make him gay. 

The incident in Kit’s classroom, however, gave _considerable_ indication that he might be. 

He thought about that. Statistics ran through his head, trying to quantify and delineate what had happened between them, but he pushed the numbers away, trying to decipher his reaction is more basic terms.

He was attracted to Kit. He felt desire for him, wanted to kiss him. He was undeniably aroused by the young man. 

Pursuing that thought further, he delved into the realm of fantasy. 

Images were readily available, of Kit naked, of touching him, being touched by him. 

_Kit, taking Charlie’s cock into his hungry mouth.  
_

_Charlie, thrusting into Kit’s willing, wanting body._

A shuddering sigh shook him. He understood what this meant, but wasn’t quite willing to admit it to himself. If he went to Kit, it would mean coming out, admitting to his family and the rest of the world how he felt about someone of the same gender, because Kit wouldn’t accept anything less. He’d already told Charlie that. 

The decision came down to a choice between what might be a deep, passionate love affair, and the risk of making a mistake he couldn’t take back, once done. 

If he pursued Kit, it would mean he’d never marry, at least until the laws got changed, but more important still, he’d never have children of his own and pass on his gift to anyone. It might mean alienating his family, because he had no idea how his father and brother might react. They were Jewish, and same-sex relationships were strictly forbidden under Jewish law.

It could also mean problems with acceptance in some arenas, because he knew homosexuality was still largely socially unacceptable. Gay people were an element of society that was shunned in some places, even dangerous. 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to live that way, even if it meant losing what might be the love of his life. He didn’t really know Kit. They hadn’t spent more than a few hours together.

It wasn’t too late to turn his back on Kit and look for a more traditional relationship that society would accept. With a woman, he could have kids, status, normalcy. With a man for a partner, every day would be a fight for acceptance, and Charlie wasn’t a fighter. 

That made his decision for him, in the end. He wanted a family someday, and he couldn’t have that with Kit. He could with Amita, if he played his cards right. He’d need to really put himself into developing a more intimate relationship with her, if he were going to make that work. 

Kit’s painting would just have to remain unfinished. 

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called Amita, inviting her out to dinner.  It would be a start, and maybe he could try to make something happen between them. 

## Φ 

### Three Days Later 

Charlie stepped into Dean Jennings’s office, out of breath from rushing up three flights of stairs, since he’d been too impatient to wait for the elevator.  He was well aware that he was late, but he knew the meeting would wait for him. The email had told him the summons was in relation to his lecture on the Golden Mean, but gave him no other information than that. He rushed in and closed the door behind himself, turning around with an apology on his lips, falling silent as he saw who else was present. 

Doctor Byrne sat in one of the guest chairs, Kit Emerson in another. 

Kit didn’t make eye contact with him or even look up, just continued to make notes in a tablet on his lap. 

“S-sorry I’m late,” Charlie said quietly, taking the empty seat beside Byrne. 

“Charlie, if you’d been on time, I’d have probably had a heart attack,” Jennings teased. “You made it, and that’s what’s important.” 

He cleared his throat and picked up a DVD from his desktop. It had been imprinted with the black-and-white image of Charlie’s face, from the portrait Kit had drawn during the lecture.

“This has become a very hot item among educational materials,” he said, delving right into the subject of the meeting. “Byrne and I wanted to discuss the possibility of doing a tour. We’ve had several requests from leading universities across the country.” 

“Well, I…”  Charlie didn’t know what to say as his mind rushed ahead of him. A tour would mean time with Kit, traveling with him. Working with him. Being _alone_ with him. 

“We’re talking major cities and major universities only,” Byrne added. “We’re planning this in conjunction with a showing of Emerson’s latest works, pieces he’s done specifically to follow the theme of Phi in art.” 

He handed Charlie several glossy color photographs. “We’ve gotten several offers as well, and we thought it could spawn a great deal of excitement in the media, if we go with this tour idea.  Frankly, I can’t see any reason _not_ to do it. We’ll wait as long as necessary for you to make room in your schedule, Doctor Eppes.” 

And there it was.

The department heads already had everything all laid out for them. He wondered if this had been Kit’s doing, as he studied the photos. Maybe the young man had cooked it up as a plot to get Charlie alone. 

“The paintings can go on a tour by themselves,” Kit interjected, turning his head slightly to address Byrne, keeping his gaze lowered so he wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact with Charlie on his other side. “You can certainly do the illustration for the lectures, as it was originally planned. You don’t need _me_ for this, sir.” 

Charlie was surprised.  Kit didn’t seem willing or interested, so this had to have been engineered by both their department heads. So why had Kit painted these compositions? 

Charlie leaned past Byrne and said softly, “Kit, these are beautiful. _Haunting_ , even. Did the lecture inspire you?” 

Kit finally made eye contact. It was brief and cool, but his sadness was palpable to Charlie. “That, and a little catharsis,” he replied evenly. “I always work out my emotional issues on canvas. The greatest art comes from suffering, Doctor Eppes. Didn’t you know that?”  

He tucked the pictures into his pad and resumed writing. 

Charlie wondered what he was inscribing so dutifully. He peered at the page and saw equations flowing across the paper. Even his handwriting was beautiful, legible, neatly balanced, with just enough artistic flourish to give it character. 

_Catharsis_ , he had said. _Suffering_. 

Charlie had hurt him by not calling. He understood that now. He wanted to apologize, but that wasn’t the time or place, especially not with an audience. 

“I don’t know,” said Charlie with as much reservation as he truly felt. “I think Kit’s right, but I also know there was chemistry on stage that I’m not sure Doctor Byrne and I could replicate.” 

“Exactly!” said Jennings. “Two young geniuses in their fields, performing on a stage together; it was electric!  You should’ve felt it from the audience, Eppes. And with this art exhibit to support and complement the lecture—“ 

“Imagine the attention this would bring to Cal Sci,” Byrne added, cutting into the dean’s enthusiastic forecasting. “The media will go nuts over you two!” 

He laughed heartily. “By God, boys, I don’t know how you can even _think_ about replacing Kit with me. I could have cranked out something appropriate, as far as the art goes, but Kit’s a born performer. That whole crushing-the-charcoal-stick flourish at the end reminded me of Jimi Hendrix setting his guitar on fire.It was a _rock-star_ stroke of genius!” 

He pounded Kit on the back, making his pen skid across the page, leaving a long black mark in its wake. 

Byrne grimaced. “Oh, sorry. I got a little carried away, there, Emerson.” 

Charlie sighed. “I don’t suppose we have any choice, do we?” 

Jennings sobered, eyeing Charlie gravely. “Do you have a problem with expanding on your own idea, Charlie?” he asked with obvious displeasure. “I should’ve thought you’d be first on the bandwagon, given the excitement this idea is causing in the classrooms.” 

Memories of clips from the DVD shuttled through Charlie’s memory. “Don’t get me wrong; it was very exciting. I’m thrilled with how it came out, and with Kit’s performance. He was… well, way better that I was. Amazing.” 

He grinned a little. “My vocabulary seems to be limited to that one word whenever I think of him.” 

Kit’s gaze shifted up to his. The look he got was critical, guarded. “But?” 

“Exactly,” said Charlie with a nod. “I’m working on some things I can’t turn loose right now. I’ve got classes and lectures already on the schedule that I’ve put off a couple times and can’t change again. I don’t see how it’s possible to cram anything else into my schedule for at least three months, and then—“ 

Jennings turned to Byrne, beaming. “That would give us plenty of time to get the arrangements made, press releases written, promotional materials printed. What do you think, Marcus?” 

“I can always step in and take over Emerson’s classes while he’s gone,” Byrne agreed. “It shouldn’t be a problem for the art department.”  

“Excellent. Three months, then.”  Jennings turned a smiling face to Charlie. 

“Wait, that’s not what I meant!” Charlie blurted, glancing between the two deans. 

“You might as well just accept that the quarterbacks are running with the ball now, Doctor Eppes,” said Kit without looking up from his tablet. “You had a great idea. I embellished on it. We’re apparently a team, and we’ll make it work.” 

He lifted his gaze, his eyes cool again, distant. “Won’t we?” 

Byrne glanced between them uncertainly, apparently cluing in to the fact that there was reluctance on both their parts to work together again. “Is there a problem, guys?” 

“No,” Charlie assured him. “Nothing we can’t work out, Doctor.” 

“We’re professionals,” Kit agreed with a plastic smile. “We’ll cast a good light on the university.” 

He rose and closed the briefing folder on his tablet, meeting Charlie’s eyes in a steady gaze. “Plenty of good chemistry on stage, lots of drama and passion; just what the audience wants to see.  And Charlie has no problem with working with gay men, do you, Doctor Eppes?  As long as you don’t book us a room together, we should be just fine.”  

He took a step away. “Just keep me up to date on the arrangements, and I’ll have my works ready to ship out by the deadline. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some arrangements of my own to make. Good day, gentlemen.” 

Silence settled over the trio in Emerson’s wake. 

“What was _that_ all about?” asked Jennings, still totally clueless. He eyed Charlie for an explanation. 

He wasn’t going to get the truth. 

“Maybe he’s mad because I took so long to sit for his figure drawing class,” he suggested lamely. “I mean, aside from nearly dying of embarrassment, I thought it went okay.” 

Jennings eyes went wide. His mouth drew up into a small ‘o’ of surprise. “Is _that_ what he had you do for the art department as repayment for his time?”  He laughed, big and hearty, as the man was himself, head thrown back, face reddening slightly with the effort. “Oh, that’s rich, Eppes!  No wonder you’re a little gun shy.” 

“I’m not—“  Charlie blushed to the roots of his hair. “It wasn’t like that.” 

“Did Emerson make a pass at you?” Byrne asked, deadly serious. 

“No,” Charlie said truthfully. “He was ever the gentleman and behaved impeccably, making sure I knew he _wasn’t_ making passes. I didn’t even know he was gay until the session was all over, and the class had been dismissed.” 

“But the subject _did_ come up,” Byrne pressed. 

“It’s okay,” Charlie assured him.  He held up his hands, palms outward in a placatory gesture, concerned now with the direction the conversation was taking. “It was all perfectly innocent,” he lied. “No sexual harassment happened, I swear. Kit just mentioned it, that’s all.” 

The art school dean visibly relaxed at that assurance. “Well, all right, then, Eppes. If you say so.  We have to make sure.” 

“It’s fine,” he promised. “I like Kit. We just don’t know each other very well yet.” 

Byrne nodded. “Emerson’s a good man. I’ve never known him to overstep his bounds, but wanted to make sure. You’re okay with this, then?” 

Charlie smiled, though he didn’t really feel it. “I’m okay with it. This lecture _was_ my idea, after all, as Dean Jennings reminded me.” 

He stood up. “I hope the tour will be as much a success as the original.” 

Glancing at his watch, he hurried toward the door. “I’m going to be late for class, but I’ll get back to you on the arrangements, okay?” 

Jennings nodded. “I’ll take care of most of that, and see what I can do about rearranging your schedule to coincide with the tour dates.” 

Closing the door behind him, Charlie heaved a heavy sigh and hung his head as he walked away. 

Fate seemed to be intent on flinging him together with Kit. He’d have to keep a tight rein on himself to make it through the two weeks or so the tour might take, considering the exhibit traveling with them, but he thought he could manage to maintain both his professional reserve and his passion for math, while they were forced into close quarters. 

Before he knew it, he was sitting next to the artist on a flight bound for New York City. They barely spoke, but Charlie was aware of every brush of their clothing, though it appeared as though Kit was being careful that they didn’t touch, and that made Charlie even more uncomfortable. He wanted to say something, but there were people around them, and then they were in a cab with the driver listening, and then off to their separate rooms at the hotel. 

Charlie unpacked and proceeded to restlessly pace his room.

He needed to apologize. It needed to be something showy, something big. His dad had always brought his mom flowers. Flowers were beautiful. Even though Kit wasn’t a woman, he appreciated beautiful things, so… 

Charlie he went downstairs to the gift shop. He agonized over the flowers, trying to remember his mom’s favorites, and finally asked the florist for help. 

He bought bouquet of white ranunculus with purple stripes along the petal edges, returned upstairs to the room next door to his own, and knocked with his heart in his throat. 

The door opened. Kit glanced at his face, then down at the flowers, and turned away to continue unpacking.  

Contrite and ashamed, Charlie eased into the room, gently closing the door.  He stood there, shoulders hunched, pulse pounding, sweaty hands starting to slip on the crystal vase. He studied Kit’s shoes rather than make eye contact.

 _What a fool he was_! He’d almost fucked Kit through a wall and hadn’t so much as said goodbye. He’d hurt this man deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured simply, speaking to the floor and holding the vase with both hands.  

“Buttercups?” asked Kit, a note of incredulity in his voice.  “Do you know what they mean?” 

That made Charlie look up, then at the flowers.”Uh. no?” At that moment he wasn’t certain of anything. He’d avoided red roses because that was what lovers gave each other. Apparently these had a hidden meaning, and he had no idea what the message was. 

“I’m sorry, Kit. I just want to start over. I want to be friends, without this awkwardness between us.” He swallowed hard, trying to calm his racing heart. “How do I make that happen?” 

“Look, Charlie, I got the message when you didn’t call,” Kit told him quietly. He stepped out of the bathroom and put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “No harm done. Not much, anyway. I’ll get over it. We have to work together for the next few weeks, so we might as well make the best of it. Talk. Get to know each other. Be friendly. I’m willing to put my disappointment behind me if you’ll stop being so afraid of me. Otherwise, any strain or tension we feel toward each other might transfer to the audience, and we’ll crash and burn. Do you think you can do that?  Just be a couple of guys on a business trip. That’s all.”  

Charlie let out a pent-up breath and felt a load lift off his shoulders and heart. “I can do that. Thank you.” 

Kit eyed the vase in Charlie’s grip. “The flowers are beautiful, and thank you.” 

He took the vase and set it on the desk near the window.  He bent down and sniffed the blooms, pleasure radiating from him. “Ranunculus symbolizes ‘joys to come.’ I hope that’s prophetic.” 

The sight went straight to Charlie’s crotch. He couldn’t stop looking at the other man, couldn’t remember a single mathematical formula, just filled his eyes with that face. And then he started to study other parts of Doctor Emerson.

His mouth went dry. Butterflies bounced around in his belly. His heartbeat made his whole body tremble. 

Kit chuckled. “C’mon. I’m starving, and I have a million questions for you. I did some reading about you before the trip, and I want to know all about Charlie Eppes.” 

“You _read_ about me?” 

“Is there an echo in here?”  Kit winked at him. “Makes me think your prodigious mind has slipped the track.  Listen, there’s a restaurant down the street that makes the best burgers in the world. You’ve got to try one. Unless, of course, you’re a vegetarian?” 

“No, I eat meat.”

The innuendo was not lost on Charlie, and he blushed as soon as he realized what he’d said.

He was about to get mental whiplash from all the abrupt changes in direction this conversation was taking.

“I love a good burger, but there’s nothing like a New York hotdog from one of the street vendors near NYU. We’ll try to do lunch at one of those before we leave.”  

“Sounds great!” 

In no time, he was falling into a more relaxed mode with his friend as they walked the sidewalks of the Big Apple, his confusion slipping away and soon forgotten in the wake of not-stop chatter between the two, covering such far-ranging subjects as math, art, astronomy, history, local lore and their personal lives. Kit’s background bore remarkable similarity to his own, including going to college at a very young age, except that Kit had moved in with an aunt and uncle who lived near Yale, rather than Charlie’s experience of splitting up his family and going off to college with his mother, leaving his father and brother to look after themselves. 

By the time the evening was over, Charlie was exhausted and euphoric. It had been one of the best nights of his life. He couldn’t remember when he’d been with someone whose mind could keep up with him on those levels. Amita and Larry, of course, but conversation with them was usually business-oriented – strictly math or problem-solving for Don on some case he might be working. This had been a conversation strictly for pleasure, about pleasurable things. 

He stood in the middle of the hallway between his room and Kit’s open doorway, still talking, reeling off baseball statistics as if there would be no tomorrow, unable to tear his eyes away from Kit’s face. The other man was smiling, a gentle, indulgent expression in his eyes. Finally, Charlie’s mouth rambled off in a direction he hadn’t expected, and it wasn’t until the words had left him that he realized what he’d said. 

“I never really looked at light and shadow until you said that line in the classroom. ‘ _Be the lightning; make smoke and shadows.’_ I can see all that in you, Kit.”  

The other man shook his head and chuckled. “Charlie, you’re making passes at me. If you don’t stop, you’re gonna end up in my pants, and I don’t think you really want to go there. Pull it back, okay?  It’s time for both of us to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.” 

Very gently, with one hand in the middle of Charlie’s chest, Kit pushed him backward into the hallway and closed his hotel room door. An instant later, he heard the sound of the deadbolt being thrown. 

Stunned, Charlie just stared at it for a moment. Mechanically, still numb with shock, he fumbled in his pocket for his room key and let himself into his darkened suite. Without turning on any lights, he sat on the sofa and stared at the city lights through the window. 

“I’ve got it bad,” he murmured to the empty room. “What do I do?” 

He sat in the dark for a long time, thinking, pacing, thinking some more. It was almost two AM before he wound down enough to sleep and got into the bed. Even then, his dreams were restless, filled with lightning, smoke and shadows, and the husky laughter of a new friend. 

## Φ 

Three weeks later, he knew he was in love. Practically every waking moment he’d spent with Kit, learning everything about him, baring his soul right back. There was no flirting, just one long fascinating conversation that stretched from the time Kit met him in the hallway each morning until he was gently left at the door each night. 

Parting drove Charlie crazy. He couldn’t work, couldn’t concentrate; every time he tried, he found himself fantasizing about Kit’s mouth and the way it curved when he smiled, or how his hair seemed to glow in the sunshine. No eyes had ever been as blue as Kit’s, like deep blue topaz or sapphires with crystalline glimmers in their bewitching depths. 

Memories of Kit during their lectures stayed with Charlie, seeing the artist darting from board to canvas, working his miracles, crafting such magic with his hands, and at the end of every lecture, they would shake hands, both high on adrenaline and the adulation pouring off their audiences. At every venue the crowds seemed to be bigger. There were news crews filming them and museums clamoring for the paintings and drawings that were created during the show. _People_ _Magazine_ did a piece on them. Entertainment news shows were lining up to do videos for their programs. They were a hit! Everyone was talking about them; strangers were starting to come up to them on the streets to ask for their autographs and get photos taken with them. 

Dean Jennings had called to try to arrange a few more stops, but Charlie was tired. He wanted to get home and get some rest, because he couldn’t sleep with Kit so near. He was at war with himself and his desires, and the tricks he’d used all his life to keep sensuality at bay were no longer working. 

Charlie had always been awkward with relationships, because he’d been thrust into the world of adults before he was emotionally ready for it. As a boy, he’d been separated from his peers in order to foster his gift, sent to Princeton at the age of twelve. His mother had done her best to temper that, but without exposure to people his own age, he’d never really learned the social skills necessary to create intimacy between himself and a potential mate. 

He’d gotten lucky a few times once he reached adulthood, but the relationships were never steady. There had always been too much of a gap between him and the women to whom he’d been attracted. His uncertainties telegraphed to them, and while that might have been charming at first, it wore on them after a while and he could feel them slipping away. Charlie always let go politely, without a fuss, and nursed his wounds in private, burying himself in work until the pain was barely noticeable. 

He and Kit talked about past relationships they’d survived, mistakes they’d made and the lessons those errors in judgment had taught them. Each time, they had both become more withdrawn from people around them. Each time, it was harder to try with the next possibility for love. 

This time, however, was different on every level. Kit was a perfect match. He was every bit as intelligent as Charlie, but had his limits with math. He could discuss concepts all day and grasp the ideas perfectly, but working the advanced equations was beyond him. Charlie found out that the equations he’d been writing in his folder during the meeting weren’t really mathematics at all, but an alphabet he’d created for himself from mathematical symbols. That intrigued Charlie even more, sending him off into paroxysms of cryptographic delight. 

When Kit talked about art, he often lost Charlie, but Charlie was no less thrilled to watch him while he monologued on the subject. He was incandescent, glassy-eyed, and so full of fire that he was pure joy to behold. Charlie followed along as best he could and asked questions to learn, but it was obvious that Kit’s understanding of art far outstripped Charlie’s. 

They were right- and left-brain men; logic and emotion; dark and light. Each was the perfect complement of the other, and the more Charlie learned about Kit, the more he wanted to know. He felt himself falling and couldn’t stop it.

If this turned bad, he knew, he’d be ruined forever. 

And yet, when they returned home, Charlie picked up his bags, waved goodbye to Kit as he climbed into a taxi, and they went their separate ways without a promise to meet once they’d rested and settled. 

Charlie slept for three days. When he rose, there were classes waiting for him, his life to resume and try to pick up the pieces where he’d left off. Two weeks passed before things began to return to some semblance of normalcy, and he didn’t call Kit once. 

Nor did Kit call _him_. 

It seemed to Charlie, in those rare moments when he let himself think about his situation, that if he just ignored the situation, it would go away on its own. 

Fate seemed to have other plans. There were invitations to parties coming out of the woodwork, and the very few Charlie chose to accept, Kit was also there. Their hosts seemed intent on putting them together like bookends and showing them off as a matched pair. Invariably, whenever he laid eyes on Kit, it was as if the rest of the world disappeared and Kit was all he could see. 

Still, Kit didn’t call.

Charlie maintained his reserve, trying to keep his focus on work rather than personal issues, until he realized that was a defensive pattern that he used to shield himself from hurt. Pain was a part of life, and he was never going to have a satisfying relationship unless he _took the risk._

He headed across the campus for the art building, and went straight to Kit’s classroom. The young professor wasn’t there, so Charlie tried his office. He had already crossed the threshold of the open doorway, his hand lifted to knock on the wide-open door, when he saw that Kit already had company. 

He was standing near the windows with a man a little older than he was, looking at a painting on a display easel. The man had his hand placed possessively on Kit’s lower back, standing close and murmuring in his ear. The comment elicited a soft laugh from Kit and Charlie’s heart sank. 

He was too late.

Kit had already moved on, because Charlie had waited too long to make a move. Without speaking, Charlie turned and hurried out of the art building, racing across the lawns and sidewalks to his office as if the devil were after him. 

“I’m _not_ gay,” he told himself breathlessly, willing it to be true. “I’m not!” 

But he knew in his heart that he was. He’d felt the stab of jealousy and possessiveness that a man _only_ feels for his mate. He was in love with Kit Emerson, angry and hurt that he’d blown his chance with the beautiful young man. 

Ten minutes later he was back at the art building, hoping for another chance, but Kit was gone for the day. Swallowing his heart down, Charlie pulled out his cell phone and dialed Kit’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. 

“Hi, it’s me,” he said into the receiver. “I was wondering if we might get together sometime tonight to talk. Please call me back, okay?” 

He hung up, thinking that he’d sounded needy and desperate. 

“You’ve got it so bad, Charlie,” he whispered aloud, “and now I’m talking to myself. I’m _losing_ it!”  He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated, frustrated, anxious. Returning to his office, he went back to work, eyeing his phone every few minutes, willing it to ring. It didn’t; just sat there for hours until the sun started going down. 

He packed up his things and went home, his phone in the breast pocket of his jacket so it would be in easy reach, but no one called. 

As he parked in the driveway and shut off the ignition, he fumbled the phone out of his pocket when it rang, pressed it to his ear and said, “Hi, Kit!  I—“ 

He stopped talking when his brother interrupted. 

“Hey, Chuck, we need you on a case. How soon could you make it to the office?”  

“Uh.” For a moment, Charlie couldn’t think. Usually he’d jump through hoops to help Don, but just this once, he was waiting on something important for himself. If he accepted the case, he knew he’d be tied up with it for at least a couple of days, and if Kit called, there might be no way to work him in until later. 

“How about tomorrow?” he asked. “I had plans for tonight.” 

“Charlie, this can’t wait. I _really_ need you on this one. It’s ugly.” 

None of the cases Don worked were particularly attractive. Some of them had given Charlie nightmares. Sometimes they’d even gotten him shot at or feet away from explosions. It was dangerous, disturbing work, and Charlie didn’t always deal with them as well as Don apparently did. 

Don correctly interpreted his brother’s silence as reluctant consideration. 

There was something fascinating about what Don did, about the cases he called Charlie for help to solve, and part of him loved the challenge, but he still couldn’t shake it off as well as his brother when it was all over. That Don had called this one ‘ugly’ meant something. It bothered Don.

 He was warning Charlie. 

“I’m on my way,” he said unhappily into the phone, turning the key in the ignition. 

“Thanks, bro,” said Don with a note of relief in his voice. 

Once at the FBI building in downtown LA, Charlie went straight to what Don’s team called “the war room,” a glassed-in enclosure where they kept whiteboards and tables and made graphs and charts that showed all the various directions the case was taking, any progress being made, and collections of photographs and reports on the crime scenes and any evidence that had been collected.

The rest of the team were all there, waiting for him. 

Charlie glanced at the board, taking in the photos of three young men taped to the top. Beneath the head shots were photos from the crime scenes, showing their bloody, bruised, mutilated bodies. They were all young, all fair, all attractive. The portraits at the top showed each of them smiling and happy. Now they were dead, and Don was most likely hunting their killer. 

“What’s up, Don?” he asked, moving closer, studying the photos of the bodies. There was something familiar about the victims, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He needed a little time to figure that nagging sensation out, track down its source. 

“Looks like we’ve got a serial killer on our hands,” his brother announced grimly. “We were hoping you could help us track him down. We’ve got three common denominators for our vics, but it’s not enough for us to get close to catching the guy.” 

Charlie’s stomach turned as he took in the details of the murders and what had been done to the bodies. He looked away, scanning the room for a map of the locations of the crime scenes, and found it on the masonry wall in the back of the room. Wandering closer, he saw that the crimes were spread out across the _country_ , not just in the city. That was what had brought the FBI into the murder investigation. 

“So, your killer chose victims in different cities,” Charlie stated. “What are the commonalities?” 

“Victim type, for one thing,” answered Megan Reeves evenly. “They were all young, attractive, similar coloring, height, build. All were artistic in some fashion – one was a pastry chef gaining some recognition for his sugar sculptures, another was a photographer, and a third was a caricature artist. They were also all gay, but we aren’t looking at this as a hate crime; at least, not at this juncture.”  

That word rang in Charlie’s consciousness like an alarm. 

_Gay_. 

He turned his gaze back to the board, and the resemblance was clear. All of these young men were similar to Kit. Beside the pictures was a name, date and time of death. He felt his blood rushing through his veins, pounding in his head and throat. His stomach cramped around something cold and hard as he faced the map again and looked at the cities. 

_Kit_ had been in those cities on the days the crimes occurred. That had been during the lecture tour, when Charlie had been at Kit’s side almost every moment of every day, _including_ the time periods when the crimes had been committed.

Sick and horrified, he stumbled into the nearest chair and turned to Megan. 

“Sometimes… sometimes these killers pick surrogate victims, don’t they?  If they can’t get to the person they really want, they choose someone _like_ the person they want to kill, right?” he asked breathlessly. 

She eyed him, frowning. “Yes. Why, Charlie?” 

“I don’t know for sure,” Charlie said thickly. “I may be way off. _Way_ off. I hope to God I am. But Kit—Doctor Emerson, the guy who did my lecture tour with me, he’s like them. We were in those cities on those exact days. I know Kit couldn’t have done these things because he was with me at the times the murders were committed, but… maybe _he’s_ the one this guy really wanted.”  

Don frowned. “That’s kind of a long shot, Charlie, but we’ll check it out, for sure. What do you know about this guy?  Anybody in his past who might be a problem?” 

Charlie nodded, squeezing his eyes closed, trying hard to keep from throwing up. “Crazy jealous boyfriend,” he choked. “Two years ago. Kit’s got a restraining order against him.” 

“We’ll check it out, see where the guy is.”  Don moved closer and put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “You okay, bro?  You look kinda shook up.”  

“I just keep thinking, it could’ve been Kit. Oh, God, Don.”  He wanted to hug his brother. This one felt personal, and he was coming apart at the seams. 

“Maybe you oughtta call him, make sure he’s okay,” Don suggested. 

Charlie didn’t need further prompting. He called Kit’s cell and got the voicemail again, leaving a second, more urgent message, not caring how crazy/desperate he sounded now. He called Kit’s home phone, too, and his office at the university. There was no answer at any of them. 

“No answer on any of his phones,” Charlie told his brother. “I’m going to his house. After I make sure he’s okay, I’ll get started on your case. Till then, I’m sorry, but I just can’t think right now.” 

“I’ll go with you,” Don promised, his concern obvious in the drawn look on his face. Don steered Charlie toward his SUV, apparently thinking Charlie was too upset to drive. 

He was right. Charlie was shaking and distraught as he gave the address and fidgeted all the way there. He bolted from the car and pounded on the door of the tiny bungalow, but there was no answer. 

Don went around the back. 

He was gone for a long time. 

Charlie heard the sound of breaking glass and his heart shattered with it. He called Kit’s name as he raced around the house, certain of the worst. He froze in the kitchen doorway, riveted by the sight of Don with his cell phone pressed to his ear, bending over a body curled up on the floor, a thatch of bloody blond hair visible just past Don’s knee. 

“Nooooo!” Charlie cried, hurrying to his brother’s side. 

“Charlie?”  The voice was weak, barely audible over Don’s instruction to the 911 dispatcher. 

“Kit!”  

Don turned around, briefly making eye contact with his brother.

“Stay back, Charlie,” he ordered sharply. “I’ve already contaminated enough evidence here. He’s alive and an ambulance is on the way.” 

“Charlie,” whispered Kit, his head turning to look for his friend. His face was battered and bloody, but he tried to smile a little when he saw Charlie with the one eye still open. The other was swollen shut, black and blue bruising all over that side of his face. 

“Oh, Kit!” Charlie wailed softly, tears running freely down his face. “Oh, God.”  He came closer despite Don’s warning, and dropped to his knees, ignoring his brother’s exasperated sigh. He touched an undamaged spot on Kit’s cheek and gazed into his good eye. “We’ll find the guy who did this to you, I promise. Did you know him?” 

“No,” Kit croaked. “Waiting for me. Tried to get away.” 

“So it wasn’t the stalker guy?”  Charlie’s eyes and hands were roving all over what he could reach of Kit’s damaged body, dressed in gray boxers and nothing else. Welts and bruises were everywhere, but the worst damage made Charlie gasp and resume eye contact. He tried to smile reassuringly, but Kit had to know what had been done to him.  

_Kit's hands looked like hamburger meat._

Someone had all but destroyed them. 

Kit shook his head weakly. “No. Not him.” 

“Not the guy in your office this afternoon?” Charlie asked gently, petting Kit’s hair, smoothing a little of it away from his face. 

“No.” 

“That’s enough, Charlie,” Don cut in. “No more questions right now.” 

The distant scream of sirens brought a rush of hope to Charlie. 

Don rose and touched his shoulder. “I’m gonna go meet the ambulance and the cops. You say here with your friend, but don’t move him and don’t touch _anything_ , okay?” 

Nodding, Charlie barely glanced at him. “Thanks, Don,” he murmured, then fixed his attention back on his friend. “They’re coming, Kit. They’ll help you, baby, I promise. Get you fixed right up.”  

Charlie leaned down to kiss that clean spot on Kit’s cheek. He wanted to hold him, but remembered Don’s caution not to move Kit.

“I’ll stay with you, okay?  I won’t leave you. They may not let me in the room ‘cause I’m not family, but I’ll _be_ there, right outside. You got that, Kit?  I’ll _be_ there! I promise.”  

The sirens shut off, and moments later the clatter of a gurney being wheeled over uneven ground touched Charlie’s ears. He glanced up and moved out of the way as a uniformed police officer entered first, trying to be careful where he stepped. He was followed up by two EMTs with the gurney. 

“I’m right here,” Charlie called to Kit as the EMTs began working to stabilize their patient for transport. 

He followed them out to the ambulance, and as they were putting the gurney in and strapping it down, Charlie called out, “Don will take me to the hospital. We’ll be right behind you, okay?” 

“’kay, Charlie,” Kit mumbled. “See you there.” 

Don was just finishing up giving instruction to the uniformed policeman securing the scene, and after a moment, his brother gestured him toward his SUV. 

There was blood on Charlie’s hands when he went to reach for the car door.

For a moment he just stared at it.

 Kit’s blood liberally decorated his clothes where he’d touched the young man. 

Charlie threw up on the grass, gagging and crying. 

Don’s hand was warm on his back by the time he finished. “Dad showed me the DVD. He’s pretty talented,” Don mused. “You really care about this kid. Guess you got close on that tour, huh?”  

He handed his younger brother a wad of tissues he’d fetched from the car. “Wipe your eyes and nose, but don’t touch any of the blood. It’s evidence. We’ll tell you when you can clean up, okay?” 

Charlie nodded. 

“I’m sorry you have to keep that on you,” Don murmured.  

Eyes closed, the memory of Kit’s ruined hands seared Charlie’s mind. “Oh, Don, his hands! His _hands_.” 

Emotion dropped his brother’s pitch a little. “I know, Charlie. You okay to go now?  They’re taking off without us.” 

Nodding, Charlie managed to get into the passenger seat and let Don strap him in, his head spinning, his heart sick. He held his bloody hands in the air, afraid to touch anything. 

Silence descended for a while as they drove, tailing the ambulance closely. 

“You called him ‘baby,’“ Don observed, his voice a husky rumble. 

Charlie nodded. “I’m in love with him,” he whispered, staring at his hands in abject horror. 

After another long silence, Don reached over and put his hand on Charlie’s knee, glancing between his brother’s eyes and the road. “You could’ve told me. I’m okay with you being gay. You’re my _brother_ , Charlie. We’re family, and we love each other. That’s all that matters.” 

“Thanks,” Charlie murmured, “but it wasn’t a secret I was keeping. I didn’t know, till I met Kit. Didn’t even admit it to myself for a while, then just kind of ignored it and hoped it would go away. It didn’t.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Don nod, brief and confirmatory, as if that settled everything.

Then he got on the phone and called his team, letting them know what was happening and where he was. He went into the hospital with Charlie, giving instructions to the medical team to let them know what evidence he wanted collected from Kit’s body once they’d attended to his injuries. He stayed long enough to interview Kit before he went into surgery, get Charlie’s evidence collected and his brother settled in a waiting room, and then left to return to the crime scene. 

Charlie sat quietly, thinking and considering how his life was about to change. He considered what he’d achieved, what he wanted for his future, what he already had. He took a hard look at his dreams, and found he didn’t have enough of them. So much of his life was spent caught up in the beauty of numbers that he wasn’t really living; just moving from equation to theorem to concept without really paying attention to who he was or where he was going. 

It was time to change that. His work _was_ important, far more important than he was, and it would last long after he was just a name in a book somewhere, but he didn’t want that to be the sum total of his legacy. He wanted to leave something else behind him – the story of a life well lived, of good works done and achievements outside the realm of math. 

Kit was a doorway to that. He’d known it from the first lecture, after watching him work. There was something almost magical between them, and it was time he recognized that and explored it. 

He ate mechanically when his hunger demanded to be satisfied. He phoned the university to tell them where he and Kit were as the clock ticked over into morning, waiting for the surgery to repair Kit’s hands to be over. He began fielding calls from the deans of their various departments, and in a few hours, both men were with him in the waiting room, which quickly began to fill with students and friends, all waiting for word on Kit’s condition. 

When it came, the doctor’s words were brief. The knife wound to his abdomen had been repaired and Kit would live, but a specialist was coming in to put his hands back together. The doctor refused to comment on any other aspect of Kit’ recovery. 

With that good news, most of the well wishers and supporters began to filter out, but Charlie couldn’t to go home. Marcus Byrne told Charlie that Kit’s mother was on her way to the hospital – a seven-hour drive from San Francisco – and he promised to wait for her, to tell her what they knew. 

After Marcus was gone, Charlie asked to see Kit and was politely turned down, since it still well before visiting hours. 

At eight o’clock in the morning, Alan Eppes appeared, carrying a basket of food and a small bag with Charlie’s shaving kit and a change of clothes for him. There was worry in his eyes for his son.

“Don told me about your… friend,” he said quietly. “Is he gonna be okay?” 

Charlie considered before he answered that. “He’s gonna make it,” he said cautiously. “Whether he’ll be okay or not… I don’t know.” 

He shrugged, eyeing his father, wondering how much Don had told him. Now was as good a time as any to come out.

He was too tired and stressed to care.

“I’m bisexual, Dad. And I think I’m in love with Kit.” 

Alan Eppes’s blue eyes studied his son’s face. “You sure?  You’re not gay?” 

Shrugging again, Charlie turned away, rubbing at his weary neck. “I don’t know. Maybe. This is all pretty new to me. It’s not something I ever thought about much, you know?  I was supposed to like girls, so I never really looked at guys. Kit changed all that.” 

“The artist from your lecture?” 

Nodding, Charlie felt a sense of relief that his father hadn’t blown up about it or had a meltdown, but then the elder Eppes was used to taking a _lot_ of big things in stride. 

“So… no grandchildren, huh?”  There was a gentle, teasing note in his voice that made Charlie make eye contact again. 

“I-I-I. I don’t know.”  That was something Charlie didn’t want to think about right now. “I’m still trying to figure all this stuff out, Dad.” 

He frowned, confused and a little upset by the acceptance in his father’s face.

“What are you—You don’t look surprised.” 

Alan smiled softly. “Your mother knew. She told me when you were a little boy that she thought you might be gay.” 

“How old was I?  Did something happen?” 

Shaking his head, Alan put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Nope. Just a mother’s intuition. When she came back from Princeton she was even more certain of it. Said you didn’t react to girls the way Don did. You were always happier around other boys.” 

That stunned Charlie.

His mother had never spoken about any of that to him, not even as an adult. He hadn’t told her about the girl in England who had lived with him while he attended Oxford. Sex with her had been nice, but not important enough to lure him away from math for long. His love affair with numbers always took precedence. 

Memories of his late mother tugged at Charlie’s heart, bringing tears to his eyes. “I miss Mom. She was always so many steps ahead of the rest of us. So wise.” 

Alan nodded. “Yes, she was, son.”  He ran a hand over Charlie’s curly hair, sliding down to his nape and rubbing his back in little circles. “I miss her, too.” 

Charlie sighed and hung his head. “I’m gonna be here for a while,” he murmured wearily. “I’m waiting for Kit’s mom. Hell of a way to meet my boyfriend’s parents.” 

“I’ll be in and out,” Alan promised after a moment. “You need anything, you let me know, okay?” 

“Yeah. Thanks, Dad.”  

Charlie was weary beyond words, aching inside. He took the paper bag and went into the nearest men’s room to wash in the sink and put on the fresh clothes. Returning to the waiting room, he went over to sit on a hard chair, ate a sandwich from the bag, then leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes to rest them a bit.  

He thought about that unfinished portrait, and wondered if Kit would ever be able to finish it now. Charlie imagined the worst – that the man who’d attacked Kit had ruined the artist’s hands forever – and Charlie’s fear had prevented the completion of a masterpiece. 

He’d never felt like this about anyone. From the moment he’d seen Kit lying on the floor in his bungalow, he’d been ready to put his career on hold, step into Kit’s life and take care of him. He’d even told his father Kit was his boyfriend, even though they’d never actually dated. 

Charlie wasn’t even sure how the other man felt about him. There was attraction, sure, but feelings? Kit hadn’t said a word or made a move that was anything other than friendly. 

Maybe this was the moment for Charlie to show him. 

Recovery from this terrible tragedy would be difficult enough for an ordinary person, but for someone like Kit, whose hands and eyes were his most important tools, it might be too great a challenge. He would need constant, unwavering emotional support, as well as someone to help him with ordinary things while he couldn’t use his hands. There would be nurses and home health people to help out, of course, but Kit would need _Charlie_.  

Kit would need to know how he felt. Charlie could look at Kit and _see_ math… and Kit, bless him, had looked at Charlie Eppes and seen _art_. 

Charlie slumped down on the hard chair in the waiting room, rested his head and closed his eyes for a moment. 

Seconds later, he was fast asleep.  

## Φ 

Alan heard someone ask for Kit Emerson, and looked around for her. 

A petite woman in a black turtleneck and jeans stood next to the nurse’s station. She wore little gold-framed glasses, her ash blond hair pulled back into a long ponytail. High-heeled black suede boots made her a tad taller, but she wasn’t much over five feet, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Tiny little thing. 

While the nurse looked up the patient information, he went up to her. “Mrs. Emerson?  Are you Kit’s mother? I’m Alan Eppes.” 

She turned to make eye contact, and he was struck by how young she looked, maybe thirty-five, though she had to be older than that to have a son old enough to be a college professor.

There was such concern in her wide blue eyes that his heart went out to her.

“China Emerson, yes,” she answered immediately. “Where is Kit?  How’s he doing?”  

“He’s gonna be okay,” Alan told her, relaying what little Charlie had told him.

He nodded toward the chair where his son sat sleeping. “That’s my son, Charlie Eppes. He and Kit are… friends. They’re close.” 

She hesitated, her expression unreadable. “Lovers?” 

“Maybe. I know Charlie’s crazy about him, but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your son yet, so I don’t know if that goes both ways.”  He offered a kind smile. 

The woman took a longer look at Charlie, obviously thinking about something. “Yes, I know who he is. I’ve seen them together on TV.”  She aimed her gaze back to Alan’s face. 

"Your son is an incredibly talented artist, Mrs. Emerson. I was blown away by what he did on that DVD.” 

She nodded, turning away to get the information on her son from the nurse. Her pale complexion lightened several shades as she listened.

Finally, she turned back to Alan for a brief look, then excused herself to see to her son. 

He went over to sit by Charlie. 

When Mrs. Emerson came out of Kit’s room, she was pale and shaken, her hands trembling, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. She studied Charlie’s face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep.

Alan couldn’t read what she was thinking. 

“He’s a handsome man,” she observed. “I could see from the passionate way he talked about math why Kit fell for him. Charlie’s all he’s talked about on the phone with me, for months now. He said they were just friends, because that’s all Charlie wanted.” 

She sighed and wrung her hands together. 

China turned back to Alan, searching his face for understanding. “Kit wanted me to talk to Charlie, to tell him he’s okay. He’s. He’s really trying to be okay, for Charlie, but he’s not. He’s not. Oh, my God, his hands!” 

China bent her head and wept softly into her palms. 

Alan reached for her, shifting enough to waken his son, and pulled her into his arms. 

“Dad?” Charlie blinked, rubbed his eyes and understood instantly who this woman must be.

“Mrs. Emerson, I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances, but I want you to know I’m here for both  of you. We’ll get him through this, I promise.” 

She wept bitterly, and when the storm had passed, she eased out of Alan’s embrace, wiping at her face with a handkerchief. She took a moment, gathering herself before she spoke, then straightened up and lifted her chin, meeting his gaze directly as she introduced herself.

“Yes, we’ll get him through this,” she agreed. “I’m glad you stayed with him. He wanted me to come out and tell you that he’s okay. He doesn’t want you to see him like that.” 

“I already have,” Charlie admitted, the memory searing through him again. 

Mrs. Emerson gasped. Her eyes widened. “How…” 

“My brother, Don, he’s with the FBI. He and I were the ones who found Kit. Don called the ambulance. He’s looking for the guy who did this.” He swallowed hard. “Maybe Kit doesn’t remember I was there. Please, tell him I need to see him.” 

China Emerson nodded. “Give me a minute.”  

Charlie was on his feet instantly, eagerness written all over him. 

Alan could see it then, the love shining in his son’s beautiful dark eyes, so like his mother’s. This was _it_ for Charlie. He put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Want me to wait?” 

With a shake of his head, Charlie said, “I’m not leaving his room once I get in. They’ll have to throw me out.” 

He gripped the paper sack with both hands, as if he needed to hold onto it to keep his sanity. “Thanks for bringing this, Dad. I’ll see you later. I’ll call when there’s news.” 

Alan nodded and watched as Mrs. Emerson led his son into her son’s hospital room. 

With a sigh, Alan took the stack of Charlie’s dirty clothes and headed for home, wondering how different his son’s life was about to become, and when he’d be bringing his boyfriend home to officially meet the family. 

## Φ 

Charlie’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest when he saw Kit, lying still and quiet in that hospital bed.

The moment Kit saw him, though, he turned his face away.

“Don’t look,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t want you to see.” 

Undaunted, Charlie approached the bed. “I’ve already seen,” he reminded the other man softly. “My brother and I found you, remember?” 

He reached out to caress Kit’s hair, afraid to touch him anywhere else. 

“Thought that was a hallucination.”  He turned back to look at Charlie, his left eye so bruised and swollen it was barely open. 

“No. I was there, Kit. Don called the ambulance.”  He sighed, his reassuring smile fading, his heart swelling up in his throat. 

China patted Charlie’s back and smiled at him as they stood beside the bed. “I’m going down to my car to get my things. I’ll be back in a little while, okay?  You’ll stay with Kit?” 

Charlie nodded. “If the nursing staff doesn’t throw me out first. Visiting hours don’t start for another—“  He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Half hour.” 

“I’ll stop by the nurse’s station and make sure they know you’re family, and that you’re to be allowed anytime,” she assured him with a comforting smile. “Thank you, Charlie.” 

As soon as she was gone, Charlie gazed down at his young friend. “Hell of a way to meet the family, huh?” 

Kit grinned, then sucked in a breath in obvious pain. “Don’t make me laugh,” he warned. 

“Look,” Charlie said, leaning over the railing on the bed, “I know you’re hurting and this probably isn’t the right time, but this can’t wait. We need to talk.” 

Kit shifted his head on the pillow to get a better look at his visitor. “About what?” 

“I’m.”  The words were hard to say. He’d never told anyone, aside from his family, how he felt about them. His emotions were something he held close, kept protected. “I love you.” 

There was a rush of relief in getting the words out. It left him almost giddy. 

Tears filled Kit’s eyes and were blinked away. He looked suddenly dreadfully unhappy. “Not helping, here. Don’t tease.” 

Charlie shook his head. He reached through the railing and touched fingertips hesitantly to a bare, unbandaged inch of skin on Kit’s forearm. “I’m not teasing. I _mean_ it. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and it scares the hell out of me. I’ve thought about it for a long time, tried to avoid thinking about it. It’s been a war inside me since that first lecture, Kit, but it’s not something I can turn off. I’ve tried, and it’s just not happening.” 

He shrugged. “I’d decided to give in and go with it just before.” 

Charlie swallowed hard. His timing had been so bad. “I called you yesterday, to see if we could get together and talk. I was hoping I wasn’t too late.” 

He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I went by your office and saw you with a guy. I didn’t know if you’d moved on, or if.” 

He shrugged and looked down at the floor, hopeless, helpless, vulnerable, and crushed. 

“My agent,” Kit explained, speaking obviously difficult for him. “Old friends.” 

Hope exploded inside Charlie with bright fingers of energy surging all through his body. Relief was a powerful thing, making his knees weak. He held onto the cold chrome bed railing to keep from falling down. 

A tear slipped from Kit’s undamaged right eye and rolled across his temple. “Still want me?” 

“Oh, God, yes!” Charlie whispered. He bent over the bed, looking for a place to kiss him, and grazed his lips over Kit’s cheek and forehead. 

Kit’s shoulder came up in a shrug that made him wince. “I look awful.” 

“Yeah, you do,” Charlie agreed, stroking his hair, unable to hide the tears in his eyes, but not caring that they were there. “But that’ll go away. You’ll heal, and when you do, we’re gonna be together.” 

“You sure?  Know what that means?” 

Charlie nodded. “I’ve already told my family how I feel about you.” 

Surprise skittered across Kit’s face. He chuckled a little. “ _That_ was fast.” 

“There was a little urgency to it, yes,” Charlie agreed, “but it’s gonna be okay. I don’t think it’ll change how they feel about me.” 

“Maybe.”  

“They seem willing to accept you in my life.”  Charlie smiled. “Your mom’s nice. I like her.” 

Kit beamed at the mention of his mother. “She’s great.” 

They just looked at each other for a few moments. Charlie bent down and kissed him again, tenderly brushing his lips over whatever undamaged skin he could find. “I’ll take care of you, Kit. I promise.” 

“Charlie.” 

His name was spoken with the reverence of a prayer, and it went straight to Charlie’s heart.

He straightened, gazing down into Kit’s drooping eyes, heavy lidded with the morphine in his system.

“I have no idea how to do this,” Charlie admitted frankly. “I may screw up sometimes. I have a habit of getting lost in my work, and don’t always remember to come home, or sleep, or eat. That’s why I’m so skinny.” 

He chuckled a little.  

“Just right.”  Kit smiled a little, winced when his split lip was stretched too far. “Hot.” 

Charlie grinned. “Yeah?”  The smile faded. “Just understand that there’s no one else in my heart; just you and the numbers. Right now, my mathematical mistress is taking a back seat to you, but I can’t always promise it’ll be that way. Are you okay with that?” 

“Important work. Gotta do it. World needs you.” 

Beaming, Charlie nodded. “Bet you’re the same way with your work, huh?”  Instantly, Charlie recognized his error, but it was too late. He couldn’t take the words back. 

Kit’s barely-there smile vanished. He glanced down at his hands, the shape of them not visible beneath the mass of bandages. He turned away as he haltingly described how the intruder had smashed his hands with a small sledge hammer until every bone had been shattered. 

“My God, Kit.”  Charlie could’ve kicked himself for drawing his friend’s attention back to his damaged body. “I’m so sorry.” 

The young man closed his eyes. He swallowed visibly. “My career might be over, Charlie.”  

“We’ll get the best doctors there are for you,” Charlie said softly. “Don’t give up, Kit. We’ll get through this. _Together_. You’re going to get well, and when you do, we’ll -- well, I don’t know, but we’ll celebrate.”  He studied Kit’s face and the anguish he saw there, wishing he could help somehow. “And we’re going to _find_ the guy who did this to you. I’m going to help with that, make sure it gets done.” 

As soon as Mrs. Emerson returned and distracted Kit with more upbeat conversation, Charlie called Don’s office to ask him to bring the data he’d need to the hospital, along with his laptop, so he could get started working on his part of the investigation.

He’d have to be discreet, not leave anything lying around where Kit or his mother could see it, but he could get it done.

Charlie concentrated on the investigation, sparing frequent glances at the man who would one day become his lover, spurring him on to work harder and find the answers he needed to direct his brother in the search for a dangerous man. 

## Φ 

Something didn’t feel right about the data. There was a piece missing, but Charlie couldn’t find it. He pored over the files on the victims, scouring them from top to bottom for any kind of pattern, every similarity, between the young men who had been killed and Kit Emerson. 

They were all similar in height, build, and coloring. Delving into their lives for statistical comparisons, Charlie discovered they were all talented, successful people in their fields. Other than their physical characteristics, artistic talents, and orientation, there were no other similarities. The appearance that they were _all_ surrogate victims became more certain. 

Three days later, he presented his findings to Don’s group, stating definitively that there was something missing from the equations, some important link that he was missing. He needed more data.

“I can help with this, if I just have something else to work with, Don,” he promised. “Anything else you uncover: coroner’s reports, forensic details, anything. I just.”  He threw up his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t _know_. There’s something I’m not seeing.” 

Don’s expression was closed. “I know, Charlie,” he said quietly. He shot a look at Megan that spoke volumes, but not to Charlie. He eyed his brother and forced a smile. 

“What?” Charlie asked. “You know something, don’t you?  Something you’re not telling me.” 

“We’ve got a lead,” Don admitted. “Your data’s on the money. That’s all you need to know right now. Just go home, get some rest—“ 

“I’m going back to the hospital,” Charlie insisted stubbornly. “Kit’s being released today, and I’m gonna be there. I’m going home with him.” 

Don frowned, his dark brows drawing together. “Why?” 

“Because his mom and I are going to take turns caring for him,” Charlie explained. “She’ll only be able to stay for another week, and then she has to go back to work. I’m moving in with Kit for a while, Don. He needs me.” 

“What about your work?  Your classes and responsibilities at the university?” Don glanced at Megan again. He seemed nervous; maybe even a little scared. 

“I’ve arranged for a leave of absence,” Charlie told him, frowning back. “What are you not telling me?” 

Don’s lips pressed together into a thin, determined line. He and Megan exchanged a glance filled with subtext. Then he turned away, giving a single nod. 

“Charlie,” Megan began, rising from her seat to Charlie’s left, “are you _dating_ Kit?” 

“Well, no, not really. We’ve had dinner together while we were on tour, but once we got back home…” Wheels began to turn. They were dancing all around questions they wanted to ask him, but wouldn’t. Important questions. Telling questions.” 

“Just _say_ it,” he demanded. 

“We think you were right about the killer; these are surrogate victims, and Doctor Emerson was his _intended_ target. There haven’t been any additional killings since Kit’s attack.” 

“And you decided this _how_ , aside from the absence of additional victims?” 

“He was in Kit’s house while we were _there_ , Charlie,” Don admitted, speaking over his shoulder. “We interrupted him before he finished. He slipped out while we were taking care of Kit and waiting for the ambulance. A neighbor saw him.” 

Don sighed and shook his head. “I should’ve left you with Kit and checked out the house. I’d have caught him if I’d been doing my job. I’m sorry, Charlie.” 

The bottom dropped out of Charlie’s stomach. They’d been so close! The killer had slipped through their fingers. 

Megan stepped in front of him, drawing his defeated gaze to her gray-green eyes, which were filled with concern for him. “There’s something else, part of my profile, that we didn’t tell you. We think…” 

She sighed and glanced at Don, who nodded and expelled a pent-up, frustrated breath. “Kit was the real target in each of these attacks, but the missing factor you’re looking for is _yourself_ , Charlie. _You’re_ the motivation for this man’s actions; the missing piece of data you’ve been looking for.” 

That idea made Charlie’s mental processes grind to a halt. “What?” 

“Have you ever heard of erotomania?” 

Charlie shook his head. “Some sort of psychological disorder?” 

She nodded. “You might have never met this person,” she explained. “He might be someone who bought the DVD for your lecture and decided you were sending personal messages through his television set. 

“You may not remember, because you were just a kid at the time, but there was an actress, Rebecca Schaeffer, who was murdered by a man like that. She was in a TV series, and as long as the character she played behaved appropriately, the actress was safe. Once she started taking on more adult roles, however, the affairs she participated in through her characters were seen as infidelities by the man who eventually killed her. She never even knew him. He shot her on her doorstep, because she’d been unfaithful to him in his mind.” 

“He could also be someone you just know casually,” Don added. “A clerk at a grocery store you frequent. One of your students. We’re looking at everybody in your life, Charlie, because we believe _you’re_ the real target. Kit’s an incidental victim here, in the killer’s eyes. He’s jealous, and he’ll kill to get rid of what he perceives as his competition.”  

Charlie’s knees gave way, and he sat down hard, his butt impacting the top of the table where his laptop sat. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

Megan touched his shoulder. “We have a description. The same man was captured on video near the other crime scenes, but he hasn’t been identified yet.” She opened a folder and laid three black and white head shots on the table. 

“Do you know this man, Charlie?” 

His eyes misted as he stared at the photos, searching his memory for that face. Couldn’t find it. Shook his head, his belly tightening with fear and revulsion. 

“Why would he kill people I didn’t even know?” 

“People who have this illness don’t behave in a logical manner,” she answered, her voice soft, filled with compassion. “I’m guessing he couldn’t get to Doctor Emerson, so he picked someone as much like him as he could find. Another artist.” 

Charlie’s head was spinning. He thought he might be sick and went to stand over the nearest trash can. “Then why didn’t he kill Kit? Why did he smash his hands instead?” 

“Again, we don’t know for sure. We’ll ask when we catch him.” Megan poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the sideboard in the interview room. “It’s pretty symbolic, though. What Kit could do with his hands was part of what attracted you to him.” 

Leaning his forehead against the wall, Charlie took a few deep breaths to steady himself. 

It made perfect sense now. The stalker had wanted to destroy what Charlie had loved. He’d intended  to kill Kit, but only after sending a clear, potent message. 

He straightened, gulped down the water and exhaled a shaky breath before facing his brother again. 

“We’ll _find_ him, Charlie,” Don promised fervently. “I’m not on the case, for obvious reasons, but the investigating agents are keeping me informed.” 

Don’s dark eyes were filled with worry and a glimmer of protectiveness. “I’m going with you when you take Kit home. You need to have someone watching over you till we get this guy.” 

“This is _my_ fault,” Charlie breathed, staring at the photos. 

“No, it’s not.” Don’s reply was angry. “You can’t blame yourself for this. You _couldn’t_ have known, not even when it was aimed at you directly. This kind of thing… it doesn’t make sense.” 

Megan crossed her arms and made eye contact. “He’s right. This guy won’t confront you unless he sees clear evidence that you’re forming a relationship with Kit.” 

She paused, her gaze becoming more intense, as if trying to warn him about something. “If you move in together, that’s likely to shift his focus _away_ from Kit. We think he’ll come after _you_.” 

“And I’m not willing to take any chances with your life,” Don emphasized. “If you want, you could bring Kit to your place. There’s plenty of room for all of us. Either way, we’re not leaving you _or_ Kit unprotected. We were gonna try to handle that discreetly, but…” 

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s better this way. Just don’t think you’re in any way to blame, okay, Charlie?  Because you’re not. This guy’s got problems that have _nothing_ to do with you. You’re just the focus of his fixation. You probably never even met him.” 

_The letter._

Charlie’s head came up as soon as he remembered it. He’d found a scented love letter on his desk over a year ago and never tried to track down who had written it. He’d assumed it was from a woman, but in light of this, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it had been his mysterious stalker instead. 

“I got an anonymous love-letter from someone a while back,” he told them. “It was on the desk in my office. I still have it there. If this guy sent it, maybe it’ll help you track him down.” 

“Let’s go get it, and then I’ll drive you back to the hospital,” Don offered. 

With a nod, Charlie accepted and left FBI headquarters with his brother, spooked by the fact that he’d had a stalker and never knew it, until several men had died. 

He felt sick. 

None of this would have happened, if he hadn’t… 

The dates of the killings were firmly embedded in Charlie’s memory, branded there for all time. They had taken place during the lecture tour, the punctuation mark of each visit to the cities on the journey. The DVD had been out for a long time prior to that, but it was only _after_ Charlie had done the sitting for Kit’s class, _after_ he’d kissed and groped the young man _in full view of the classroom windows_ that the attacks began. 

Someone had been watching from outside. He’d seen Charlie and Kit together, and that had pushed him over the edge; Charlie was sure of that now. The killer must have witnessed the intimate scene between them and become jealously enraged, taking out that unreasonable anger on the surrogates he’d found to take Kit’s place in his fantasies. 

It _was_ his fault, all of it, and Don would never be able to convince him otherwise. 

## Φ 

**_Three Weeks Later_**

Charlie couldn’t sleep. He’d brought Kit to his house from the hospital on Don’s suggestion, and after hearing the facts, the Emersons chose to err on the side of safety and stay with the Eppes family.  Kit was set up in Don’s old room, and China had moved into the guest bedroom downstairs.  They’d bought a baby-monitor system to make sure Kit had help when he needed it, and some privacy when he didn’t.  The monitor receiver was in China’s room, at her insistence, but Charlie needed to know Kit was okay. 

He got up out of bed and wandered through the silent house, creeping silently toward Kit’s borrowed room.  Don was downstairs on the couch, on guard even when he was sleeping.  The house was under 24-hour surveillance, as was Kit’s.  There was no way the erotomaniac could get to them there; Charlie was just plagued by guilt and worry.  He needed to _see_ Kit, to confirm for himself that his friend was sleeping peacefully and didn’t need anything. 

Pushing open the door slowly, he was startled to see movement in the shadows of the room. 

Charlie’s heartbeat thudded in his chest, dropped suddenly into overdrive.  He shoved the door open and saw it – a black shape suddenly still in the darkness, hoping to hide, but Charlie had already seen it.  He didn’t think, driven by his instincts to protect his loved one.  He charged, launching his fist at the man’s shadowy head with a bellow of rage. 

Not until Don was pulling him off the prone figure on the floor did Charlie realize what he was doing. His hands hurt, but he didn’t care.  His blood was boiling and a kind of madness had settled over him, the haze fading once Don’s voice called him back, commanding him to stop. 

Charlie’s fists were clenched so hard he could barely uncurl his fingers, and when he did, he saw they were bloody.  The lights were on in the bedroom now, and Kit was sitting up in bed, staring at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed.  

Looking down at the man beneath him, Charlie stared at him, willing himself to recognize the man, but he couldn’t recall having ever seen him before that moment. 

“Who is he?” 

Don’s hands were strong, insistent.  “I’ll take it from here, bro,” he said stridently.  “Just go stand by the door.”  

Charlie watched his brother turn the stranger over and cuff him, then help him to his feet.  He was a big guy, his brother’s height and general build, with fair hair and gray eyes.  Those eyes stared at Charlie with an intensity that broadcast his mental state loud and clear. 

“You’re _mine_!” the stranger announced to Charlie.  “You promised!  You said you loved me, Charles.  Then you kissed _him_.”

He glared murderously at Kit, who sat whimpering and hyperventilating on his bed, unable to get up by himself. 

“You fucked him, Charles!  You betrayed me! What was I supposed to do, huh? Just let you go around throwing yourself at him and ignore it?” 

“I don’t _know_ you!” Charlie roared, taking a step toward him.  “We’ve never even met!” 

Shock made the man’s mouth drop open as Don hustled him toward the door. “How can you say that? After all we’ve meant to each other?” 

“Don’t talk to him, Charlie,” Don snapped, manhandling the guy toward the bedroom door.  “You’ll just make him more agitated.” 

Don disappeared into the hallway with the stranger, and Charlie heard the agents on duty outside come into the house in answer to his brother’s summons.  They took the prisoner outside with them while Don remained behind to wait for additional personnel to arrive. 

Charlie sat down on the bed and stared at his hands.  He flexed them, wondering if he should wash, or if they’d need to collect evidence from him.  He decided to wait for Don to tell him what he should do.  He was tired, suddenly exhausted, and all he wanted was to sleep. 

“You saved me,” said Kit softly.  “He was coming here to kill me, wasn’t he?” 

With a shrug, Charlie chose not to answer.  He dragged his weary gaze to Kit’s face.  He was looking better, most of the swelling gone now, the bruises lighter and going greenish as they healed. 

“You okay?”  

Kit nodded.  “Thanks to you.” He lifted his plaster-encased hands, so recently pieced back together by the best hand surgeon in the country.  “I couldn’t have defended myself, Charlie. You saved my life.” 

“I put you in danger in the first place,” Charlie murmured, looking back at his own bloodied hands.  “He saw us in your classroom, Kit.  He saw _me_ , what I did.  If I hadn’t…” 

He shook his head.  

“You didn’t do it by yourself,” Kit reminded him with a shrug. “I could’ve said no.  I could’ve made you stop, but I didn’t.  I wanted you from the first moment I saw you in the lecture hall.  You were – _are_ – the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and the more I’ve gotten to know you, the more beautiful you become. I’m not sorry for anything that’s happened between us, and I don’t want you to be, either.” 

Charlie’s gaze wandered over to Kit’s hands, lying still and useless in his lap.  “Not even that?” He glanced up at Kit’s face. 

There was so much love in those blue eyes that it took Charlie’s breath away. 

“If that’s the price I have to pay for being with you, then I’m willing to pay it.” 

Charlie’s throat stopped working.  He reached for Kit, embracing him carefully, tucking his face into the curve of Kit’s neck. His momentum carried them down to the bed, and Kit’s plaster-reinforced arms closed about him in a comforting embrace. Charlie couldn’t hold back the tears of relief, knowing that their terror was finally over; the threat gone at last. 

“I’m sorry,” Charlie sniffled.  “Kit, I’m so sorry! I want you to paint again. You’re too great a talent to lose that.” 

Kit kissed the top of his head.  “Shhhh.  It’s okay, Charlie.  We’ll be all right.”  

They lay together for what seemed like a long time.  The warmth of Kit’s body was so pleasant and reassuring that Charlie started to drowse.  He adjusted his position, stretching out alongside Kit’s legs under the covers, and fell asleep, waiting for his brother to return. 

## Φ 

Don found them like that much later, and sat down on the foot of the bed. 

Charlie roused, slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his left hand. “Is he gone?” 

“Yeah, they took him down to police headquarters for booking,” Don answered. 

“How’d he get in? I know your guys outside wouldn’t leave their posts.” Charlie sniffed, struggling to fully awaken. 

“He’s been here all along, living in your attic. Must’ve been up there for a couple weeks, with all the stuff we found.” 

Heart pounding, Charlie bounded backward out of his chair. “Ohmygod. Ohmygod. In my _house_?”  

He felt violated, utterly creeped out. 

“It’s okay now, bro,” Don told him, patting his legs.  “He’s gone, and this case is gonna be closed, once we get all the paperwork done.” 

“What’ll happen to that guy? Who is he, anyway?” Charlie swung his legs off the bed. 

“Name’s Evan Cavanaugh,” Don replied evenly.  He’s a janitor at the university. Did you recognize him at all?” 

Charlie shook his head.  “No. I don’t remember ever having seen him before tonight.” 

“Me, neither,” added Kit with a shrug. “The university’s a big place.  I suppose it’s possible for him to have worked there for years and we never met him.” 

“He sure knew you two, though.” Don glanced at the floor, unease written in his posture.  “Charlie, what he said, you know, about you and Kit.” 

He didn’t finish; just let the unfinished line dangle. 

“We didn’t have sex,” Charlie told his brother.  “Not exactly.” 

“More like… heavy petting,” confessed Kit, blushing. “It was late in the day, in my classroom. In full view of the windows.  I guess he saw us.” 

Don nodded.  “Just.”  He licked his lips, searching for whatever he wanted to say, but apparently couldn’t find the words.  He didn’t look at either of them, just kept his gaze on the floor.  “Use condoms, okay?” 

Charlie laughed nervously.  “Don, we haven’t really _had_ sex yet. I’ve never been with a guy before.” 

“We will,” Kit promised. “Just so you know, Don, I’m clean. There haven’t been many lovers in my life, and I was always careful. _Always_.” 

“That’s good to know.  I don’t want Charlie getting hurt.” 

“I’m right here, Don.” Charlie waved at him, not happy with the turn this conversation was taking. “And I don’t need you prying into my love life, thanks.” 

Don stood up and finally made eye contact. “Sometimes you do, Charlie.” He turned his attention to Kit.  “Be good to my brother, Kit.” 

“I intend to be,” Kit promised with a happy smile, “‘cause I think I hit the jackpot this time.” 

Charlie looked at him, at the joy in the young man’s face, and his heart melted.

“I’m the lucky one,” he whispered, his eyes hungrily studying Kit’s adorably rumpled self. He listened to his brother’s footsteps as he left the room, and then kissed Kit back into his pillow. 

With a sigh of relief and contentment, Charlie snuggled down beside him, and drifted back to sleep with Kit in his arms, where he belonged. 

## Φ 

Charlie didn’t want to think about going back to work.  It had been two months, and Kit had made remarkable progress, with great visiting nurse care at home and frequent physical therapy to help him regain the mobility lost when his hands were pinned and stapled together following the attack. He could dress and feed himself now, and that meant he could do without a full-time caregiver for long periods. 

It was time, and Charlie had scheduled his return for tomorrow.  Sunday would be their last full day together until the next weekend, and he wanted to make the best of it. His father was away for the day, leaving the two of them alone in the house. 

Breakfast in bed was the first order of the day. Charlie roused and made coffee, toast with butter and blueberry jam, scrambled eggs and a side of fresh peaches, washed and sliced up in a bowl, eating his own meal while he put Kit’s together. He set everything on a tray and carried it up to Kit’s room, pushing the door open with his toes. 

He set the tray down on a bedside table, moving quietly so he wouldn’t wake his guest. He took a moment to just look at Kit, at the peace in his face. His skin was like the peaches, fair and perfect, the slightest blush of blond whiskers sprouting on his jawline. Charlie’s gaze took in the bare shoulders and arm flung over the top of the covers, and felt his insides curl up a little. 

Red scars like roadmaps covered the backs of his hands, where the flesh and muscle had been peeled away during surgery to allow the broken bones to be reassembled and fixed into place with small rods and pins. The scars would be permanent reminders of the attack, the irritation fading to white over time, but for the moment it was hard to look at him and not think about what had happened. 

Kit was working hard to recover his range of motion, but even thinking about drawing was a long way off.  He’d lost a lot of muscle tone while he healed, and flexibility and control had gone with it.  His hands shook whenever he used them for too long. 

The smell of coffee wafted to Kit, who opened his eyes with a smile, sleepily pushing his hair out of his face, looking around for Charlie.  “You like watching me sleep?” 

“I like watching you do anything,” Charlie admitted, smiling back.  He lifted the covers and got into the bed with Kit, then pulled the tray closer.  “Hungry?” 

“Mmm-hmmm.”  Kit reached for him, fingers wrapping around his nape and pulling him down into a sweet kiss.  “G’morning, gorgeous.” 

“Morning, beautiful.” 

Kit didn’t reach for the food. He sighed and smiled at Charlie instead. “So when will you be ready to make love?” 

Charlie laughed. “Oh, man! You’re feeling better.” 

“I’ve been feeling fine for a couple weeks now, Charlie. You’re not a man for cluing in on the subtleties, so I thought I’d try being obvious.” 

“Subtleties?” 

“I’ve been giving you come-hither looks, flirting my brains out, and going _way_ over the top with the innuendo in our conversations, and you haven’t noticed. Even morning wood hasn’t gotten your attention.” Kit thrust his hips against the covers over his erection tenting up the sheets. 

Charlie groaned and plopped face-first into the pillow, certain he’d died and gone to heaven. He rolled over happily, reaching for Kit, his fingers sliding over the bare skin of his belly and chest. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ll know what to do.” 

“You did just fine the first time,” Kit teased. “As I recall, you’re a damn good kisser. That’s usually a good place to start. Before we go there, though, you might want to go get the condoms and lube.” 

His smile vanished. “Lube?” 

“And make sure the bedroom door’s closed and locked on your way back in.” 

“Um.” 

“Well?” 

“Lube?” 

Kit chuckled. “You really are clueless about this, aren’t you?” He sat up and threw the covers back, swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. 

“No. I know what goes where. I just.” He swallowed hard. “ _Lube_.” 

Charlie ogled his slender body, peachy skin everywhere from the waist up, his legs and backside covered by flannel sleep pants with a stiff dick hidden beneath them. For the first time, he let himself really think about what they were going to do. He and Kit were going to make love for the first time. 

He was going to have sex with another _man_. 

His head was spinning as he went to his room to fetch the box he’d bought just for this occasion. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to really consider everything they’d need, so there wasn’t any lube. He wasn’t even sure what it might be for, and as he returned to Kit’s room, he was poised to ask when he saw the young man exit his bathroom, stark naked and so gorgeous he hurt Charlie’s eyes. 

“Whoa. Let me get my sunglasses.” 

Charlie had seen him naked every day since the attack, but he’d been taking care of him then, bathing him, helping him go to the bathroom, tending his wounds. This was _different_. Everything was different today. The earth seemed to have shifted on its axis, and become a whole different place than it had been only minutes earlier. 

Kit pulled him into the room, closed and locked the door behind him. He propelled Charlie slowly toward the bed, then began to tug at the T-shirt Charlie still wore. He let go of the box of condoms as the shirt pulled it out of his grip, and Kit fished it out, tossing the box onto the bed and the shirt on the floor. 

“First,” said Kit nonchalantly, “we should talk about a couple of things.” He glanced down at Charlie’s chest, beaming as his fingers sought out the thick mat of dark curls that covered him. “I’ve only had two lovers before you, and there are things I still haven’t tried yet.” 

“I’ve only been with one other person,” he admitted, filling his eyes with the beauty of Kit’s nakedness, “and she was a woman. This is going to be. I mean. I know what _I_ like, but…” 

“We’re figuring all of this out together,” Kit confirmed, beaming back at him. “Maybe this time we’ll try something simple and move on to the more creative stuff as we go. No pressure.”  

“Yeah?” Charlie’s mind was only partially there. His gaze traveled down Kit’s body to his cock, jutting out from a nest of golden curls. He was still half-hard, his shaft a delicate rosy-pink. Charlie wanted to touch him there.  He ached for it. 

“Yeah. So… blowjob? Frottage? Top? Bottom?” 

“F-f-frottage?” 

Kit tilted his head way back, gazing at Charlie through slitted, intoxicated eyes. “Well, we've technically done that with our clothes on,” he mused in a husky growl.  “I'm not against an _au naturale_ version this time, but when you’re ready, I want you inside me, Charlie. In every possible way.” 

“Fuuuuuh…” 

Charlie’s mind was so blown, he couldn’t even say the word. He pulled Kit hard up against him, one arm around his waist, the other hand wrapped around his nape.  The rest of the world fell away then, and there was only his beautiful Kit, the golden light of morning, and the bed. 

He wasn’t sure exactly what happened next. When he came to his senses, Kit was on his back on the bed, wrapped around Charlie and holding on tightly. Charlie was on top of him, braced on his hands above Kit, their foreheads touching, panting into each other’s faces. 

No details came to mind as he tried to remember their first lovemaking. There were only sensations that set his mind on fire and shook him to the core. This was nothing like he’d experienced with his previous lover, far more intense and wonderful. 

“Oh, I am _so_ gay,” he whispered, leaning down to take Kit’s lips again. 

His lover chuckled into his mouth. “ _That_ was frottage, Charlie,” Kit told him, breathlessly, “and we kinda missed the whole condom part.” 

Charlie’s eyes widened and he pushed back, looking down at Kit, suddenly aware of the come mixed in with sweat, gluing their bodies together. “Is that okay?” 

“There wasn’t any penetration, so, yeah, but we’ve got to keep our heads a little in the future. That’s not something we can afford to forget.” 

Thinking about that, Charlie slid his hands beneath Kit’s shoulders and curled his fingers around the smooth slope.  He studied that gorgeous face, now reddened from his whiskers, rosy lips glistening and wet from kisses, begging for more. He couldn’t imagine himself with anyone else, not after this. 

“Why not?” he asked softly. “We can both get tested, if you want, just to make sure we’re both okay, and then—“ 

Kit’s humor vanished. He looked terribly sad. “That’s not how it works for us,” he whispered. “You don’t know what it’s like out there, Charlie. Now that you’re aware you like men, you might be tempted to see what somebody else is like, and I’d never know.” 

Charlie watched his mouth as he said the words and understood the motivation behind them. 

“Somebody hurt you badly, didn’t he?”  His gaze shifted to Kit’s eyes in time to see a single tear slide across his temple. “I’ll never be unfaithful, Kit. I’m not made that way. I can’t do more than one relationship at a time, and you’re _it_. I’ve never felt like this about anybody, and I can’t see that going away, not ever.”  

“I want to believe you,” Kit confessed, his fingers moving to Charlie’s hair, combing through the dark curls. “I’m just afraid. Once burned, twice shy, and about a dozen other clichés about heartbreak and hard lessons.” 

His heart caught in his throat, knowing Kit’s reluctance to trust completely was rooted in past experiences that had all but cut him off from public contact. The lecture had been a reach for him, but he’d done it, and the tour helped to bring him out even further. Those were baby steps, and eventually, Charlie thought he could demonstrate to Kit that he wasn’t like those other men who had hurt him so much. He’d do whatever Kit wanted, until he could prove himself and fully win him over. 

“Don’t compare me to anybody else,” Charlie murmured gently, “because you’ve never met anybody like me before, just like I’ve never known anyone like you. This is going to be the _one_ relationship in your life by which all others will be measured.” 

Kit smiled sweetly, his eyes roaming all over Charlie’s face. “My Golden Mean,” he whispered. “Let’s give it time. It’s all still new right now, and you’ve been my caregiver the last few months more than my lover. Things might change.” 

“Actually, I’m more of a tall, dark Mean,” teased Charlie.  “ _You’re_ the golden one.” 

Kit patted him on the butt.  “Right now, I’m ready for a shower. Then I’ll eat my cold breakfast, and then we’ll go for round two. Sound good? Or did you have other plans for today?” 

Grinning, Charlie confessed, “I had planned to stay in bed with you all day, but I wasn’t sure I’d get lucky.” 

Laughing, Kit rolled Charlie off him and left the bed. “Charlie, I’m a guy. I think about sex constantly, especially when you’re right in the room with me.  It’s been damned hard not to _get_ hard in front of your father and brother.” 

“Speaking of,” Charlie interjected, “Dad’s been making noises about moving out. Are you okay with him here?” He bounded off the bed to follow his lover into the tiny bathroom adjoining his bedroom. 

“I like your Dad just fine. But I have my own place, Charlie. I need to get back to it soon.” 

That stopped Charlie in his tracks. 

“Why? Aren’t you happy here with me?” 

Kit chuckled, glancing at him over his shoulder. “We should date before we live together, Charlie. I should be okay taking care of myself, for the most part. I might need help opening jars and stuff for a while, and I can eat out if I find I can’t cook for myself, but I need to pick up the pieces of my life.We need to start a little closer to the beginning, if we’re gonna make this work.” 

Charlie was terribly disappointed to hear all that. “There’s no way I can change your mind?” 

“You can try.” 

Padding after him, Charlie turned on the water, then had a thought and turned it back off. Kit’s fingers could move now, and he could grip a spoon or fork well enough to feed himself, but had very little grip strength, and couldn’t hold anything for more than a few seconds without his hand beginning to cramp and shake. He wasn’t ready to look after himself just yet, and be without help nearby. 

He stepped aside and gestured to the tub, indicating Kit should turn it on for himself. 

The message was received, loud and clear.  The younger man glanced down at his damaged hands, then at the faucet. He sighed and turned back to Charlie.

“Score one for the math guy,” Kit groused. “I’ll stay a little longer, but just till I’m capable of taking care of myself. Got it?” 

“I want you to _move in_ with me,” Charlie told him frankly. “Into my _bedroom_. _Sleep_ with me. _Live_ with me. Be mine, and I’ll be yours.” 

Kit shook his head. “No, Charlie. You need to find out what it is to be gay before you fully commit yourself to a relationship.” 

“Too late,” Charlie shot back. He didn’t need convincing. He was dead sure of what he felt. “Is there some other issue going on that I should know about?” 

“No,” said Kit, grief seeping into his eyes. “I just don’t want to lose you. I want you to be sure.” 

“I am.” He bent down and turned on the water, shoving his fingers under the tap until it was the right temperature, then switched the water flow to the shower head. “I’m thirty years old, Kit. I may be socially awkward, but I do know my own heart; I know what I feel, and how deeply it goes.”

He rounded on Kit, letting his hand drip onto the bathroom rug. “I’m in love with you, and I can’t change that. I don’t _want_ to change it.” 

“I believe that.” 

“Then what’s the problem?” 

“You’re not _out_ yet,” Kit explained patiently. “Your family knows, but nobody else does. When you live as an openly gay man, the world changes. People stare at you when you hold your lover’s hand. Sometimes they throw things at you, call you terrible names. You’ll be discriminated against, in blatant and subtle ways. You have to be aware of everyone around you and be careful where you go, because there are places that aren’t safe for us.” 

Charlie swallowed hard and nodded. “I know. I did a lot of research into homosexuality while I was working your case for Don.” 

“Reading about it isn’t the same thing as _experiencing_ it,” Kit corrected. “I brought success with me when I came to the university, or I probably wouldn’t have gotten a teaching position here. You’ve got considerable clout in your profession, but that doesn’t mean they won’t look at you differently, once they know you’re gay. Add that to any mistake, no matter how slight, and it could cost you your job, if Dean Jennings is prejudiced against gays.” 

“He wouldn’t,” Charlie stated firmly. 

“Don’t be so sure.” Kit stepped into the water and began to wash himself, careful of his hands. 

Charlie let the subject drop, knowing that Kit was speaking from experience Charlie didn’t yet have. He was right; Charlie wasn’t out and hadn’t experienced anti-gay prejudice first-hand. That didn’t mean it would ever be directed at him, considering the strength of his reputation in academia, research, government, and law enforcement. He could write his ticket anywhere he wanted, because he was recognized as one of the best mathematical minds in the country, maybe even in the world, although that didn’t guarantee him anything. He was only as good as his most recent achievement, and to maintain his reputation, he’d need to keep making them. 

California was a good place for gays. The laws were kinder there, and he could marry the partner of his choice, even though the union would only be recognized in that state. There was a large enough gay population to carry significant political weight in that state. There was hope of the possibility of equality there, if not in the rest of the nation.  

Kit stepped aside when he’d finished scrubbing, letting Charlie have a turn in the spray. When they finished, they dried off and returned to the bed, where Charlie watched Kit having his breakfast. He’d already eaten downstairs when he was making Kit’s meal, and took the time to dream a little, hands clasped behind his head on the pillow. 

“I want kids,” Charlie announced quietly. “Two or three, maybe.” 

“Two,” Kit agreed between mouthfuls of cold scrambled eggs, “though I _could_ be talked into as many as four.” 

Charlie chuckled. He reached out to touch Kit’s thigh, covered in a sprinkling of nearly invisible golden down.

“I love this house,” Charlie murmured. “It’s my home, where my mother lived and loved me. I want to share it with you, but if you’d be happier in a place we pick out together, I’d sell this one.” 

“It’s a wonderful house, and I’ve enjoyed being here. You’ve got a great family. Just don’t be in such a hurry, Charlie. Take your time.” He smiled sweetly. “It means a lot to me that you’d give up your home to please me, but we’re a long way from making that kind of decision.” 

“I want to grow old with you.” 

“You’re such a romantic sap.” Kit’s eyes were twinkling. “I’m trying to eat, here, Eppes.” 

“I’m romantic?” Charlie frowned. “No one’s ever accused me of that before.” 

“Mmfumuhmow,” said Kit, his mouth full. 

“What?” 

Kit swallowed and tried again. “Maybe you just weren’t properly inspired before.” He winked,  grinning shamelessly. 

Charlie snuggled into the pillow and sighed. “What do _you_ want, Kit? What are your dreams?” 

“A home, family, good job, decent health care; same as everyone else.” He scooped up the last of the egg on his fork, fist wrapped carefully around the handle, and gulped it down. “I want to be able to marry the person I choose, and live without fear of being beaten to death because I walked into the wrong door—“ 

Kit froze. 

The fork fell out of his hand, clattering against the plate. 

Charlie sat up, leaning around so he could get a look at his face. 

The younger man was staring down at the tray spanned over his lap. He started to tremble. Without warning, he started to move, flinging the tray that held his empty dishes onto the floor. He bolted, dashing for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time to empty his stomach of his just-finished breakfast. 

Instantly, Charlie was after him, confused by his lover’s reaction. “What’s wrong, Kit?” he cooed, reaching for the damp washcloth on the side of the tub. He waited until Kit was finished and sat back on his heels before washing his face with the cool rag. 

“I remembered,” he panted, holding Charlie’s hand and the cloth over his eyes. “Jesus, Charlie! I remembered that guy. That guy. What he did. Like it was _right now_ , so real. I could smell my blood, taste it in my mouth, feel him kicking me, crushing my h-my hands with that ha-ha-hammer.” 

He looked down at his ruined hands, at the red, still-healing scars where he’d been stitched back together so carefully. 

Kit started to cry as Charlie pulled him into his arms.

Megan had warned him about this. For months now, Kit had been just fine, no apparent trauma at all, aside from the damage to his body. He’d seemed relaxed and accepting of what had been done to him, and Megan explained that it simply hadn’t caught up to him yet. He’d refused to process the attack mentally and emotionally, choosing to deal only with the physical after-effects until he could cope with it internally. 

Now it was hitting him full-force. 

He coaxed Kit back to bed when he was sure there would be no more vomiting, and tucked both of them under the covers, snuggling Kit close to him, his arms wrapped protectively around him. 

“No one’s going to hurt you again,” he vowed against Kit’s hair. “They’ll have to go through _me_ first.” 

Kit’s palm stroked listlessly over the thick mat of hair on his chest and belly. He wished Kit would say something.  

He seemed a little calmer now, not shivering as much, breathing easier. 

“When’s your mom coming back to visit?” Charlie asked, deciding to change topics and lead his lover’s thoughts elsewhere. He liked China, and his father had, too. They were calling each other now, and Charlie suspected that was for more reasons than just reports on her son’s recovery. 

“This weekend,” said Kit quietly.  “Charlie, I’m scared.” He lifted his head, propped up on one elbow and gaze down at his lover. 

“Everything’s going to be all right,” Charlie promised, lifting one hand to stroke Kit’s hair and caress his face tenderly. “You’ve been through something terrible. It’s going to take a while to recover, and it’s not just your body that needs to heal. You know that, since your mom’s a psychotherapist. I’m sure you’ve heard enough stories about her patients to understand how that works.” 

“I’ll talk to Mom about it. Maybe she can help.” 

Charlie pulled him back down to his arms, holding onto him, listening to him breathe, feeling Kit’s pulse beating against his skin. "I'll sell the house. You don't ever have to set foot in it again."

"No. But I'm getting rid of my bungalow. Not sure I could even go back to pack up my stuff."

"Then I will," Charlie vowed.

He was ready now. The words were coming, and saying them was easy.

“I love you,” Charlie whispered softly, playing in the golden strands of Kit’s hair. 

For a long time, Kit didn’t move.  

Charlie kept waiting, but Kit didn’t say the words back to him, and Charlie realized he hadn’t said them _at all_. That made him sad; made him doubt. Maybe Kit wasn’t in love with him, and that was the real reason why he was so hesitant to commit to Charlie. 

The more he thought about that possibility, the more it hurt. A lump filled up his throat. He wanted to get out of there, go to the garage and work, lose himself in the numbers so he wouldn’t have to feel this pain. 

Then Kit raised his head and looked down at him, as if reading his mind. Without speaking, he climbed on top of Charlie and stretched out over him. He was smaller than Charlie by a head, but they weighed about the same, and the sensation of his heavy body was blissfully wonderful.  He was hard again, his cock digging into Charlie’s belly. 

There was something mildly alarming about that. 

It turned Charlie on a little. 

Kit reached for his hair, teasing the dark curls with his fingertips, then brushing them against the heavy five-o’clock shadow lining Charlie’s face. Charlie studied him, watching his eyes as he looked his fill, and saw the adoration in them, plain as day. He didn’t need to say the words for Charlie to know how he felt. It was all right there. 

“Phi,” Kit whispered. 

Charlie’s heart broke open, understanding at once the unspoken meaning behind that word. It was what had brought them together. It was the basis of their relationship, the yardstick for measuring all others in their lives.

For Charlie, it meant more than “I love you” ever could. 

“Phi,” he said huskily, nodding, his heart in his throat. 

Kit kissed him then, his fingers still playing over Charlie’s face, then moving down his throat, across his shoulders, over his arms to his hands, which Kit clasped and held for a moment. The kiss was sweet and lazy, relieving Charlie of all cognitive thought. Kit’s lips stroked across his stubbled chin, danced along Charlie’s neck, nibbled along his collarbones and down his chest.  He nuzzled Charlie’s left nipple, searching for it through the dark hair and latching on with lips and then teeth. 

Charlie groaned, arching up against that wonderful mouth, holding Kit to him. He was rock hard again, and felt as if he could go for hours. He wanted to take his time this time, to stay in control and be aware of everything they did together.  

His lover had other plans. Kit had a talented mouth, and in moments he had Charlie gasping and moaning, bucking beneath him, seared by his desire, unable to keep still. Charlie hadn’t known such feelings were possible.  All he could see was Kit touching him, Kit’s hair so wonderfully mussed by his fingers, Kit’s rosy lips shiny and kissable, busy with his lower belly and thighs. He watched in abject reverence as Kit’s tongue caressed his shaft, licking all over his balls, sucking them into his mouth one at a time until Charlie couldn’t see anymore. 

He collapsed onto the pillows and relaxed, giving himself up to his lover. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right, so fulfilling to him as this. Kit was the missing piece of his life that he’d been seeking, the answer to all equations, the resolution to all mysteries.

He was everything; Charlie’s whole world. He was math _and_ art, inextricably linked. There would never be anyone else who balanced him so well.

Kit fumbled with a condom, but couldn’t get it on Charlie’s dick. He reached down and rolled the latex over his erection, and at Kit’s urging, grasped the base of it and held it on. Kit swallowed him then, and Charlie petted and stroked his hair, cheek and shoulder, all he could reach while the man he adored made love to him. 

It felt good; definitely the best blowjob he’d ever had, but he’d climaxed so recently and was so relaxed he couldn’t come. 

Charlie let his mind wander, and fantasies readily appeared. He wanted all of Kit; wanted him willing and submissive to him. He wanted to fuck the beautiful blond through the mattress, to dominate him sexually and drive him crazy until he exploded. 

Gently, Charlie nudged Kit away from his dick, staring at his red, swollen lips as he came up. He kissed the mouth he’d just fucked, tasting the latex on his tongue, and sat up with Kit.  He turned the younger man around, sitting him on the edge of the bed and moving up behind him. Charlie splayed his legs wide and straddled Kit’s hips, pressing his chest to Kit’s back. 

Reaching around him, Charlie kissed Kit’s neck and shoulders while his hands greedily caressed Kit’s body, moving slowly downward. Charlie explored the shape of his flat belly, the rough texture of Kit’s hairy thighs, and the coarseness of his pubic hair. His balls were ruddy pink, and heavy in Charlie’s hand, his cock hot and satin-smooth. 

Kit relaxed against him, leaning his head back against Charlie’s shoulder with a sigh, putting himself completely in Charlie’s control. 

That turned Charlie on even more. He knew he could do whatever he wanted with this lover; that nothing would be denied him. That feeling of power made him giddy, and he nibbled on the side of Kit’s neck, delighted with the gasp and shiver that accompanied it. Charlie bit harder, sucking and chewing on Kit’s neck until he was certain he’d left a mark. 

“OhGod _yes_ baby,” groaned Kit, pumping himself into Charlie’s fist. He sucked a breath in through his teeth and said, “Gonna shoot—“

And then he was coming, spurting a fountain of hot come all over Charlie’s hand. 

“Beautiful,” whispered Charlie, mesmerized by the sight. He continued milking his lover until Kit pushed his hand away with a little laugh. 

“Your turn,” he said with an intoxicated smile. 

Charlie turned his face to make eye contact. “Wanna fuck you,” he growled. 

Those sexy blue eyes glittered as they looked into his, pupils dilating until only a thin sliver of sapphire blue was visible. “Yes,” Kit whispered. 

As soon as Charlie moved back, Kit stretched out on the bed, on his back, legs spread wide. “Like this, or on my knees?” 

“Got a general idea,” panted Charlie, “but may need some help. Do I just go right in?” 

Kit gave him the softest, most beautiful smile, and told him what to do. 

Charlie loved the foreplay. He shifted to lie beside Kit instead, reaching between his legs, stroking his fingers across the cleft of Kit’s ass, teasing him open. 

The scent of male musk was strong as Charlie began kissing Kit’s belly, nibbling on the sensitive flesh, leaving faint teeth marks and numerous suction bruises. He marked his lover’s body liberally, and Kit loved it. He gasped and trembled beneath Charlie’s touch, unfurling like a rosebud in the sun.  

Charlie’s finger, slick with lube, slipped deeply inside him. He felt Kit’s muscles clench, heard him moan, and the heat of Charlie’s desire rose until he felt as if he were broiling. Sweat poured off him, slicked him up. At Kit’s insistence, Charlie tried another finger, twirling and teasing his lover open, panting hard, his cock ready to burst with need, but still he held back. 

He was amazed that Kit took all four of his fingers, arching and panting, eyes closed, face flushed red with heat, body glistening with perspiration. Kit was beautiful, wide-open, and ready. Charlie withdrew and checked the condom he still wore, adjusted the fit a little and drizzled on the lube. 

Under Kit’s direction, Charlie lifted his lover’s legs and knelt between them. He held Kit’s buttocks with one hand, positioned himself with the other, and gently, slowly, pushed himself inside, watching as his cock sank into Kit’s rosy sphincter. He stopped as soon as he felt the muscles clench and heard Kit’s sharp intake of breath. 

Charlie glanced into his lover’s eyes. “Hurts?” he asked breathlessly. 

“A little,” said Kit with a grimace, “but don’t stop.” 

Nodding, Charlie forced himself to hold still, to give Kit time to adjust. 

His lover rolled his hips back a fraction when he was ready, and Charlie slid a little deeper. Bit by bit, he eased inside until he was buried to the hilt. He gazed down at himself, the black fluff of his pubic hair framing Kit’s rosy balls, his soft cock small and flaccid against his belly. 

“I’m inside you,” he murmured happily, meeting Kit’s eyes. 

 “I love you, Charlie,” he declared shakily. 

“Oh, baby,” whispered Charlie, leaning down for a kiss. He started to move, releasing Kit’s mouth to give him room to breathe. Charlie held Kit’s buttocks in his hands, keeping him curled into a tight ball as he thrust into him. 

_Making love,_ he told himself.

 _This_ was what it was all about. This was what everyone wanted so much in their lives; the golden dream that every heart yearned to share, and he _had_ it.

They were one. 

_1.618._

This was Phi, the Golden Measure, the Divine Principle. 

_Perfection_. 

Whatever else happened in his life, he would always have the memory of this moment, this perfect peace, where he and his lover were inextricably joined, lost in each other. It was a journey from which he would return a changed man, no longer alone, forever part of someone else, with Kit firmly embedded into his heart and soul. 

He gazed at his beloved, watching him writhe in pleasure and stiffen with renewed desire, feeling him shudder as another orgasm rippled through his body.  The spasms pushed Charlie over the edge and he came, bent double over Kit, feeling as if his heart was being pulled out through the end of his cock. When the ecstasy began to wane, he opened his eyes and hoped Kit could see his heart in them. 

“Phi,” he whispered softly. 

Kit nodded, and smiled. He understood what that word meant to Charlie, all that it represented. And Charlie knew that it meant the same thing to Kit. 

They might not ever have the statistics that most couples shared – the 2.3 children, especially – but the numbers they had were beyond measure; magic numbers that defied description. 

What they had would be enough. 

_They had Phi._

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a fan of math, but I always do my research. This program gave me wonderful insights to a subject I hated in school. Wish I'd had a teacher like Charlie who saw numbers as beautifully.
> 
> For further fun and enlightening information on the wonders of Phi, go to www.goldennumber.net.


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